"Here; let me light it for you."
There was a pause for the ceremony.
"Yes," continued Mr. Burrows, "there is, as you say, much room for discussion on both sides. I cannot disguise from you my own anxiety as to the fate of my niece should this disreputable character succeed, as you anticipate, in"—
"A runaway match?" Mr. Ramsay pressed home his advantage. "Of course, you sneered and sneered, although I've warned you again and again that his plans are well-nigh completed. This must be prevented, Mr. Burrows."
"What do you suggest?"
"Well, this experimental mill of yours has got to be wrecked and abandoned anyway. On that the firm insists, and your excuses for delay are getting too thin, Burrows,—altogether too thin."
Mr. Burrows groaned.
"This business of yours, Burrows, must be reported as an utter failure, or we shall find the new ground held at fancy prices. We could have the mill burned to-night by accident, the wedding to-morrow at the Mission; then, you see, Miss Violet would be safe from the Blackguard."
Miss Violet had heard enough, in all conscience, yet for a moment she could not move. Her curled-up foot went boldly down among the imaginary mice upon the floor, for this was more exciting even than live rats. She shivered a little, partly in compliment to the autumn chill, but more with cold fright. Then her growing resentment made the warm blood race through her veins. She flushed with indignation, and in another minute, boiling over with rage, would have rushed out upon her enemies. But no; on second thoughts, she had a man to do her fighting, a big brave man, whose wickedness would be turned toward her adversaries, whose love toward herself.
"Blackguard," she whispered into the air,—"dear true Blackguard, you might be ever so bad, but you're not a coward like this Charlie."