to think ill of him.  And in this manner we walked up and down for nearly two hours, till I began to feel very tired and faint.  My father saw this, and when we came within sight of Wyncomb Farmhouse, proposed that I should go in and rest, and take a glass of milk or some kind of refreshment.  I was surprised at this proposal, and asked him if he knew the people of the house.  He said yes, he knew something of Mr. Whitelaw; he had met him the night before in the coffee-room of the inn at Malsham.”

“Then your father had slept at Malsham the night before?”

“Evidently.  His letter to me had been posted at Malsham, you know.  I asked him how long he had been in this part of the country, and he rather evaded the question.  Not long, he said; and he had come down here only to see me.  At first I refused to go into Mr. Whitelaw’s house, being only anxious to get home as quickly as possible.  But my father seemed offended by this.  I wanted to get rid of him, he said, although this was likely to be our last interview—­the very last time in his life that he would ever see me, perhaps.  I could not surely grudge him half an hour more of my company.  I could scarcely go on refusing after this; and I really felt so tired and faint, that I doubted my capability of walking back to this house without resting.  So I said yes, and we went into Wyncomb Farmhouse.  The door was opened by a girl when my father knocked.  There was no one at home, she told him; but we were quite welcome to sit down in the parlour, and she would bring me a glass of fresh milk and a slice of bread-and-butter.

“The house had a strange empty look, I thought.  There was none of the life or bustle one expects to see at a farm; all was silent as the grave.  The gloom and quietness of the place chilled me somehow.  There was a fire burning in the parlour, and my father made me sit down very close to it, and I think the heat increased that faintness which I had felt when I came into the house.

“Again and again he urged his first demand, seeming as if he would wear down all opposition by persistence.  I was quite firm; but the effect of all this argument was very wearisome, and I began to feel really ill.

“I think I must have been on the point of fainting, when the door was opened suddenly, and Mr. Whitelaw came in.  In the next moment, while the room was spinning round before my eyes, and that dreadful giddiness that comes before a dead faint was growing worse, my father snatched me up in his arms, and threw a handkerchief over my face.  I had just sense enough to know that there was chloroform upon it, and that was all.  When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on a narrow bed, in a dimly-lighted room, with a small fire burning in a rusty grate in one corner, and some tea-things, with a plate of cold meat, on a table near it.  There was a scrap of paper on this table, with a few lines scrawled upon it in pencil, in my father’s hand:  ’You have had your choice, either to share a prosperous life with me, or to be shut up like a mad woman.  You had better make yourself as comfortable as you can, since you have no hope of escape till it suits my purpose to have you set free.  Good care will be taken of you.  You must have been a fool to suppose that I would submit to the injustice of J.N.’s will.’