"I cannot believe a word you say!" exclaimed Ringfield in an agony, setting the lantern down. "Not a word—not a word. Do you think you can play all your life like this with men? You cannot play with me at all events. There are forces here (he struck his breast), passions here, instincts here I never dreamed of, I never knew I possessed. It is not good, nor wise, nor necessary for me to love you, Pauline, but I do—I do! And you must fear them, you must respect them, these instincts, these forces, as much in me as you would do in other men."
"I do, I do! Only I do not like to see you and that other man together—I always feel something happening, I do not know what! but I will tell you all about it. Father Rielle drove me to this place; we got out, came in, and then he talked most foolishly, most wildly—hurt my wrist—see here! And while I was wondering how I could put him off, get rid of him, I discovered that the other man was in the loft. I saw his stick, then I heard him; and then he came down and he and Father Rielle went away together."
"But he came back—for I saw him, I saw you both. You went outside to look at the tree."
"Yes—he went away, but he came back, and while we were talking I heard you coming and so—and—so——"
"You got him out of the way in time! Then after I left he was here again with you?"
"For a little while, just a little while."
Ringfield suddenly snatched her hands and bent his stern offended gaze upon her.
"You have been hours with that man, hours—I know it. And to pretend to me that there was no one there, while you allowed me to open my mind and heart to you—the indignity of it, the smallness and vileness of it; oh!—can not you see how I suffer in my pride for myself as well as in my affection for you? As for the man, he knew no better, and I suppose he wished for nothing better, than to listen and look, to watch us, to spy——"
He choked with sorrowful wrath and temper; an access of jealous, injured fury entirely possessed him for an instant, then with a great effort, and an inward prayer, he partly regained his ministerial calm.
"You must see that I am right," he resumed; "he calls himself a gentleman—you call him one; but is that a gentlemanly thing to do? Gentleman? To stay here in hiding and let us talk on as we did! And what does it signify that he is or has been 'an Oxford man'—the term has no relevancy here, no meaning or sense whatever. Tell me this once more, for I have grave doubts—has he any legal right over you?"