“Why do you say all this, Mr. Shuttleworth?” protested Sylvia in a low, pained voice. “Why should Mr. Biddulph be mystified further? If you are determined that I should sacrifice myself—well, I am ready. You have been my friend—yet now you seem to have suddenly turned against me, and treat me as an enemy.”
“Only as far as this unfortunate affair is concerned, my child,” he said. “Remember my position—recall all the past, and put to yourself the question whether I have not a perfect right to forbid you to sacrifice the life of a good, honest man like the one before you,” he said, his clerical drawl becoming more accentuated as he spoke.
“Rubbish, my dear sir,” I laughed derisively. “Put aside all this cant and hypocrisy. It ill becomes you. Speak out, like a man of the world that you are. What specific charge do you bring against this lady? Come, tell me.”
“None,” he replied. “Evil is done through her—not by her.”
And she stood silent, unable to protest.
“But can’t you be more explicit?” I cried, my anger rising. “If you make charges, I demand that you shall substantiate them. Recollect all that I have at stake in this matter.”
“I know—your life,” he responded. “Well, I have already told you what to expect.”
“Sylvia,” I said, turning to the pale girl standing trembling at my side, “will you not speak? Will you not tell me what all this means? By what right does this man speak thus? Has he any right?”
She was silent for a few moments. Then slowly she nodded her head in an affirmative.
“What right has he to forbid our affection?” I demanded. “I love you, and I tell you that no man shall come between us!”