“Had you taken the time to listen to something else that I had to tell you, you might have reconsidered the advisability of eloping with me in such haste,” went on the girl in her clear, ringing tones, “for it has become apparent to me—­with even as little knowledge of the world as I possess—­that you are a fortune hunter—­that most despicable of all creatures—­but in this instance your dastardly scheme has entangled your own feet.  Your well-aimed arrow has missed the mark.  You have wedded this night a penniless girl.  An hour before you met me at the arched gate my father disinherited me, and when he has once made up his mind upon any course of action—­nothing human, nothing on earth or in heaven would have power enough to induce him to change it.”

The effect of her words were magical upon him.  With a bound he was at her side grasping her slender wrists with so tight a hold that they nearly snapped asunder.

Intense as the pain was, Faynie would not cry aloud.  He should not see that he had power to hurt her, even though she dropped dead at his feet at last from the excruciating torture of it.

“What is it you say—­the old rascal has—­disinherited you?” he cried, scarcely crediting the evidence of his own ears.

“That is just what I said—­my father has disinherited me,” she replied slowly and distinctly, adding:  “His money was his own—­to do with as he pleased—­he gave me the choice of—­of—­marrying to suit him or being cut off entirely.  I—­I—­refused to accept the man he had selected for me.  That ended the matter.  ’Then from this hour know that you shall not inherit one penny of my wealth,’ he cried.  ’I will cut you off with but the small amount required by law.  There is nothing more to be said.  You are a Fairfax.  You have taken your choice, and as a Fairfax you must abide by your decision!’ You will remember I told you I had something to tell you the moment you came up to me at the arched gate, but you would not listen.  Now the consequence is upon your own head.”

“I have married a beggar, when I thought I was marrying an—­heiress!” he cried in a rage so horrible that Faynie, brave as she was, recoiled from him in terror and, dismay.

“You have married a penniless young girl,” she corrected, half inaudibly.

He raised his clinched hand with a terrible volley of oaths, before which she quailed, despite her bravery.

“When the old man cast you off you thought you would tie yourself on to me,” he cried.  “You women are cunning—­oh, yes, you are, don’t tell me you’re not; and you are the shrewdest one I’ve come across yet.  You lie when you say you meant to tell me what had happened beforehand, and you know it.  But you’ll find out at your cost what it means to bind me to a millstone for a wife.  But you shan’t be a millstone.  You’ll do your share toward the support.  Yes, by George, you shall.  I’ll put you on the stage—­and you—­”

“Never!” cried the girl with a bitter sob.  “I’d die first.”