“Oh dear, what would I give if you were only safe home!”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t see what I can do.  People are always saving my life.  And there is Captain Kirby hunting all over Italy for me.  And I know I will be saved by somebody—­if—­if—­I—­I—­if—­I—­if—­you know—­that is—­I’m sure—­”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Willoughby, as Minnie broke down in confusion.  “It is too absurd.  I won’t talk about it.  You are a silly child.  Oh, how I do wish you were home!”

At this juncture the conversation was interrupted by the Baron.

“It is not my fashion, ma’am,” said he, gravely, “to remind another of any obligation under which he may be to me; but my claims on Minnie have been so opposed by you and the rest of her friends that I have to ask you to think of them.  Your father knows what my first claims are.  You yourself, ma’am, know perfectly well what the last claims are which I have won to-day.”

The Baron spoke calmly, firmly, and with dignity.  Mrs. Willoughby answered not a word.

“If you think on your position last night, and Minnie’s, ma’am,” resumed the Baron, “you’ll acknowledge, I expect, that it was pretty hard lines.  What would you have given a few hours ago for a sight of my uniform in that old house yonder?  If I had come then to save Minnie from the clutches of that Italian, wouldn’t you have given her to me with all your heart, and your prayers too?  You would, by thunder!  Think, ma’am, on your sufferings last night, and then answer me.”

Mrs. Willoughby involuntarily thought of that night of horror, and shuddered, and said nothing.

“Now, ma’am, just listen to this.  I find on coming here that this Italian had a priest here all ready to marry him and Minnie.  If I’d been delayed or defeated, Minnie would have been that rascal’s wife by this time.  The priest was here.  They would have been married as sure as you’re born.  You, ma’am, would have had to see this poor, trembling, broken-hearted, despairing girl torn from your arms, and bound by the marriage tie to a ruffian and a scoundrel whom she loathed.  And now, ma’am, I save her from this.  I have my priest too, ma’am.  He ain’t a Roman Catholic, it is true—­he’s an orthodox parson—­but, at the same time, I ain’t particular.  Now I propose to avail myself this day of his invaluable services at the earliest hour possible; but, at the same time, if Min prefers it, I don’t object to the priest, for I have a kind of Roman Catholic leaning myself.

“Now you may ask, ma’am,” continued the Baron, as Mrs. Willoughby continued silent—­may ask why I’m in such a thundering hurry.  My answer is, because you fit me off so.  You tried to keep me from Min.  You locked me out of your house.  You threatened to hand me over to the police (and I’d like to see one of them try it on with me).  You said I was mad or drunk; and finally you tried to run away.  Then you rejected my advice, and plunged head-foremost into this fix.  Now, in view of all this, my position is this—­that I can’t trust you.  I’ve got Min now, and I mean to keep her.  If you got hold of her again, I feel it would be the last of her.  Consequently I ain’t going to let her go.  Not me.  Not by a long chalk.