“Simply this,” he said, calmly, taking no notice of her emphasis—­“you are to accompany Miriam to the asylum and act as her nurse and guardian until my point is gained.  You shall be present at every interview, and you shall both be made perfectly comfortable—­treated like ladies; in short, every propriety shall be sacredly observed, and, on the day on which her marriage with me is solemnized, you may both return to Monfort Hall—­you as its head, and Claude as its master; Miriam will go home with me, her husband, of course, and all will be settled.  Now, I give you twenty-four hours wherein to consider this proposition.  At the end of that time, if you still hesitate, Claude shall know every thing.  You can then take your chances with him—­he may be ready to take a felon for a wife, for aught I know, after all!”

“Come, then, to-morrow evening,” she acceded, after a second pause, and in low, angry accents, “and I will acquaint you with my determination—­my necessity rather.”  They parted thus and there.

CHAPTER X.

Nearly dead with terror and indignation, I crept stealthily to my own chamber, in which I locked myself up securely, resisting all friendly overtures of the enemy, except one cup of tea, received from the hand of a servant through the half-opened door (which was instantly relocked) of my citadel.

My resolution was formed that night.  I would leave Monfort Hall, and even forsake Mabel, until I could return and legally claim both.  At my majority, Mabel would be of age to select between her guardians, by that time, according to law, and—­we should see!  As for poor Morton, I would write to him and claim his prayers alone.  Age like his is so irresponsible.  I dared not trust him farther!

It was all very brief and bitter!

As yet I had digested no plan of action.  I would go westward, I thought, but just as far away as my money would carry me from these fiends, trusting to God for the rest, just as a boat puts off from a blazing ship.

Of course, I must adopt another name—­what should it be?  I should need clothing; and how secure and convey away my trunk unseen by Evelyn?  My diamonds must be secreted or disposed of—­how should this be done?  Could I trust Mrs. Austin—­Mabel?

No, the suggestion was discarded at once as unworthy of consideration.

One was too old, too self-indulged, too selfish; and in age people usually worship expediency alone.  The other far too young not to be necessarily indiscreet and impulsive.  To have been otherwise at her tender age would have been simply monstrous!

No, I must forego even the sweet satisfaction of saying farewell to Mabel; we must part perhaps forever, as we might meet again within an hour, and all her distress and anxiety must pass unshared and unheeded.

There was no one else I cared very much about leaving, but the love of locality was a strong feature in my disposition, and every room in my father’s house was dear to me, as was every book in his study, and every plant in our deep-green, shadowed garden.