“You are going to give up this madness,” he said coldly. “You will show yourself amenable to reason—my reason—or I shall enforce my demands in another way.”
The girl’s exasperation was growing with each moment, but she kept silence, waiting for him to finish.
“You will never marry this man,” he went on, with quiet emphasis. “Nor any other man while I live. There is no marriage for you, my girl. There can be no marriage for you. And the more ‘unimpeachable’ a man’s character the less the possibility.”
“I don’t pretend to understand you,” Diane replied, with a coldness equal to her father’s own.
“No; perhaps you don’t.” The man chuckled fiendishly.
Tears sprang into the girl’s eyes. She could no longer check them. And with them came the protest that she was also powerless to withhold.
“Why may I not marry? Why can I not marry? Surely I can claim the right of every woman to marry the man of her choice. I know you have no good will for me, father. Why, I cannot understand. I have always obeyed you; I have ever striven to do my duty. If there has never been any great affection displayed, it is not my fault. For, ever since I can remember, you have done your best to kill the love I would have given you. How have I been ungrateful? What have I to be grateful for? I cannot remember one single kindness you have ever shown me. You have set up a barrier between me and the world outside this ranch. I am a prisoner here. Why? Am I so hateful? Have I no claims on your toleration? Am I not your own flesh and blood?”
“No!”
The man’s answer came with staggering force. It was the bursting of the storm of passion, which even his will could no longer restrain. But it was the whole storm, for he went no further. It was Diane who spoke next. Her cheeks had assumed an ashen hue, and her lips trembled so that she could scarcely frame her words.
“What do you mean?” she gasped.