“I shall protect Sylvia, never fear. I am not afraid. Let our enemies betray their presence by sign or word, and I will set myself out to combat them. They have already those crimes in Bayswater to account for. And they will take a good deal of explaining away.”
“Then you really intend to reveal the secret of that house in Porchester Terrace?” he asked, not without some apprehension.
“My enemies, you say, intend to plot and encompass my death. Good! Then I shall take my own means of vindication. Naturally I am a quiet, law-abiding man. But if any enemy rises against me without cause, then I strike out with a sledgehammer.”
“You are hopeless,” he declared.
“I am, where my love is concerned,” I admitted. “Sylvia has promised to-day that she will become my wife. The future is surely our own affair, Mr. Shuttleworth—not yours!”
“And if her father forbids?” he asked quite quietly, his eyes fixed straight upon my well-beloved.
“Let me meet him face to face,” I said in defiance. “He will not interfere after I have spoken,” I added, with confidence. “I, perhaps, know more than you believe concerning him.”
Sylvia started, staring at me, her face blanched in an instant. The scene was tragic and painful.
“What do you know?” she asked breathlessly.
“Nothing, dearest, which will interfere with our love,” I reassured her. “Your father’s affairs are not yours, and for his doings you cannot be held responsible.”