“I’ll tell you,” said Nick instantly, and quite undismayed.  “I dreamed that a certain friend of mine was lonely and heart-sick and sad.  And she wanted—­horribly—­some one to come and take care of her, to cheer her up, to lift her over the bad places, to give her things which, if they couldn’t compensate for all she had lost, would be anyhow a bit of a comfort to her.  And then I remembered how she belonged to me, how she had been given to me by her own father to cherish and care for.  And so I plucked up courage to intrude upon her while she was still wallowing in her Slough of Despair.  And I didn’t pester her with preliminaries.  We’re past that stage, you and I, Muriel.  I simply came to her because it seemed absurd to wait any longer.  And I just asked her humble-like to fix a day when we would get up very early, and bribe the padre and sweet Lady Bassett to do likewise, and have a short—­very short—­service all to ourselves at church, and when it was over we would just say good-bye to all kind friends and depart.  Won’t you give the matter your serious consideration?  Believe me, it is worth it.”

He still held her hand closely in his while he poured out his rapid explanation, and his eyebrows worked up and down so swiftly that Muriel was fascinated by them.  His eyes baffled her completely.  They were like a glancing flame.  She listened to his proposal with more of bewilderment than consternation.  It took her breath away without exactly frightening her.  The steady grasp of his hand and the exceedingly practical tones of his voice kept her from unreasoning panic; but she was too greatly astounded to respond very promptly.

“Tell me what you think about it,” he said gently.

But she was utterly at a loss to describe her feelings.  She shook her head and was silent.

After a little he went on, still quickly, but with less impetuosity.  “It isn’t just a sudden fancy of mine—­this.  Don’t think it.  There’s nothing capricious about me.  Your father knew about it.  And because he knew, he put you in my care.  It was his sole reason for trusting you to me.  I had his full approval.”

He paused, for her fingers had closed suddenly within his own.  She was looking at him no longer.  Her memory had flashed back to that last terrible night of her father’s life.  Again she heard him telling her of the one man to whom he had entrusted her, who would make it his sole business to save her, who would protect her life with his own, heard his speculative question as to whether she knew whom he meant, recalled her own quick reply, and his answer—­and his answer.

With a sudden sense of suffocation, she freed her hand and rose.  Once more her old aversion to this man swept over her in a nauseating wave.  Once more there rose before her eyes the dread vision which for many, many nights had haunted her persistently, depriving her of all rest, all peace of mind—­the vision of a man in his death-struggle, fighting, agonising, under those merciless fingers.