He rose and walked to the window, and looked out.
"Well, Evelyn, whatever happens, I have to thank you for many things. It has been all like my boyhood come back again, but much more wonderful and beautiful. If I have to go to America, I shall take with me at least the memory of one night at Covent Garden. She was there—and Madame Potecki—and old Calabressa. It was Fidelio they were playing. She gave me some forget-me-nots."
"What do you mean by going to America?" Lord Evelyn said.
Brand remained at the window for a minute or two, silent, and then he returned to his chair.
"You will say I am unjust again. But unless I am incapable of understanding English—such English as he speaks—this is his ultimatum: that unless I give my property, every cent of it, over to the Society, I am to go to America. It is a distinct and positive threat."
"How can you say so!" the other remonstrated. "He has just been to America himself, without any compulsion whatever."
"He has been to America for a certain number of weeks. I am to go for life—and, as he imagines, alone."
His face had been growing darker and darker, the brows lowering ominously over the eyes.
"Now, Brand," his friend said, "you are letting your dis
trust of this man Lind become a madness. What if he were to say to-morrow that you might marry Natalie the day after?"