“Now, Elsie,” Whiting said, “here’s your last chance to be sensible. I’m nearly at the end of my rope, but so are you. If you’re not married by tomorrow,—that’s your birthday,—you lose all that money. And I tell you plainly,—I swear to you, you shall not leave this house until after your birthday, unless you marry me first. You’ve no chance at all, you see, for nobody knows where you are,—you don’t know, yourself! But here you are and here you stay, unless you agree to my wish. Remember your mother and sister, and remember your sister’s two little kiddies. Will you doom those innocent children to a life of poverty, when you could so easily make them happy and comfortable for life? And I’m not a bad sort, Elsie. I’ll let you have your own way in everything. What I’ve done, I’ve done for love of you. Not the money, you know I don’t care for that, but my devotion to you is unbounded. Come, Elsie, dearest, say yes.”
“I say No!”
“Think of your mother. The loss of you and the loss of the fortune both, may kill her. Then you would be her murderer!”
“Hush!” and Elsie clapped her hands over her ears.
“I won’t hush. I want you to see what you’re doing! Yes, you may be the death of your poor invalid mother. You will surely spoil the lives of Gerty and her dear little ones, and what do you gain by it?”
“Did you do away with Kimball Webb?”
“I most certainly did not. I know nothing of him or his fate; but you must see that he left you willingly,—deserted you, and on the very eve of your wedding.”
“I don’t believe it!” but Elsie’s tortured soul could bear no more and she fell in a dead faint.
Whiting was a little scared, and he called Mrs. Pike quickly.
“Poor lamb,” she said, gathering the unconscious girl in her arms. In the days together she had learned to love Elsie, and she turned on Whiting. “Go, you! How dare you torment the darling so! Away with you, you shall trouble her no more tonight.”