“Ah!” he responded, with a slight sigh, “you are only speaking in ignorance. If you were aware of the true facts, you would, on the contrary, thank me for revealing the peril in which love for this young lady will assuredly place you.”
“But have I not already told you that I am fearless? I am prepared to meet this mysterious peril, whatever it is, for her sake!” I protested.
A curious, cynical smile overspread his grey, ascetic face.
“You speak without knowledge, my dear sir,” he remarked. “Could I but reveal the truth, you would quickly withdraw that assertion. You would, indeed, flee from this girl as you would from the plague!”
“Well,” I said, “your words are at least very remarkable, sir. One would really imagine Miss Pennington to be a hell-fiend—from your denunciation.”
“You mistake me. I make no denunciation. On the other hand, I am trying to impress upon you the utter futility of your love.”
“Why should you do that? What is your motive?” I asked quickly, trying to discern what could be at the back of this man’s mind. How strange it was! Hitherto I had rather liked the tall, quiet, kind-mannered country rector. Yet he had suddenly set himself out in open antagonism to my plans—to my love!
“My motive,” he declared, “is to protect the best interests of you both. I have no ends to serve, save those of humanity, Mr. Biddulph.”
“You urged Miss Pennington to make confession to me. You implied that her avowal of affection was false,” I said, with quick indignation.
“I asked her to confess—to tell you the truth, because I am unable so to do,” was his slow reply. “Ah! Mr. Biddulph,” he sighed, “if only the real facts could be exposed to you—if only you could be told the ghastly, naked truth.”