“Ten days will close up de whole transaction, as I understand,” was the no less cool reply, made in those husky, inimitable tones, peculiar to the man of petty pills.

“Ten days!  It would seem a short time wherein to get up a reasonable trousseau, even!”

“True—­true! but nosing of dat kind is necessaire under dese circumstances—­only your mos’ gracious and graceful consent!” He spoke eagerly, with bowed head and clasped hands, standing mutely before me when he had concluded.

“If Mr. Gregory loved me truly, he would not limit me thus,” I hazarded.  “He would give me time to learn to return his affection, as I must try to do, and to forget the past!  He would not strike hands with my persecutors, but insist on my liberation—­or obtain it, as he could readily do, without their cooeperation, through you, Dr. Englehart, who seem to be his friend and ally, and who have already run such risks for his sake in bringing me these two dangerous letters,” and as I spoke I pushed them across the table, to be gathered up and concealed with well-affected eagerness.

How perfectly he played his part, and how cunningly Bainrothe had contrived to convey to me his menace—­real, or assumed for effect, I could not tell which, for my judgment spoke one language, my cowardice another!  Yet, I confess, that the panic was complete, though I concealed it from the enemy.

“Women usually, at least romantic and incredulous women like me, demand some proof of a lover’s devotion,” I resumed, as coolly as I could, “before yielding him their faith and fealty; but Mr. Gregory has given me no evidence so far of the sincerity of his passion; I confess I find it difficult, under the circumstances, to believe in its existence.”

He drew near to me, bent eagerly above me, then again concealed himself, as it was wise for him to do, in shadow; and I could hear his hissing breath, as it passed between his closed teeth—­like that of a roused serpent.  The impulse of the man came near betraying him, but he rallied and refrained from an exposure, as he would have supposed it, that must have been fatal to his success as a lover, even if it confirmed his power of possession.

His tones, low and deep, were unmistakably those of suppressed passion when he spoke again, and he had almost dropped his accent, so wonderfully assumed.

“When shall he come to you, and speak for himself?  Let me take to him some word of encouragement from your lips—­for de love of whom—­he languishes—­he dies!  All other passions of his life have proved like cobwebs, compared to this—­avarice, ambition, revenge, all yield before it!  He is your slave!  Do not trample on a fervent heart, thus laid at your feet!  Have mercy on this unfortunate!”

“Strange language from a captor to a captive—­mocking language, that I find unendurable!  Let Mr. Gregory remain where he is until the extreme limit of the interval granted me by Basil Bainrothe—­as breathing-space before execution; and before hope expires in thick darkness—­then let him come and take what he will find of the victim of so much perfidy!”