Lady Strange’s eyes shone with applause, but Rashleigh and Mrs. Winter waited for the scene to continue. After a moment’s silence, Foxwell began anew:
“Well, sir, I must congratulate my niece upon your devotion. Rather than give her up for ever, you will risk death. You hazard all upon your chance of escape. ’Tis a slight chance enough: that you will own.”
“No doubt,” replied Everell, in a faltering voice; “but ’tis something.”
“Suppose it fails you. Then, in losing your life, you lose the lady, too. Your chance of seeing her again is even smaller than the small chance of your escape: you may be sure that special precautions will be taken with you—such that your chance will be hardly worth calling by that name.”
Everell sighed deeply, and it is no use denying that he looked plaintive and miserable.
“But what if I propose an alternative?” said Foxwell. “What if I offer to make you our guest here—for a week—as free as any other guest, except that you may not leave the grounds or put yourself in danger of discovery,—a guest with all the opportunities of meeting my niece that a recognized suitor might have?”
It was a moment before Everell could speak. “Sir, what does all this mean?” he cried. “Is it a jest? In God’s name, don’t hold out such a prospect merely to play with me.”
“’Tis a prospect in your power of realizing, upon my honour.”
“Then your generosity—but generosity is too mean a word—I know not how to describe your action, nor to express my gratitude.”
“Pray wait till you have heard the condition: to everything there is a price.”