“Do you say this to me, Amy?—­do you offer me pageants of idle ambition, for the quiet peace you have robbed me of!—­But be it so I came not to upbraid, but to serve and to free you.  You cannot disguise it from me—­you are a prisoner.  Otherwise your kind heart—­for it was once a kind heart—­would have been already at your father’s bedside.—­Come, poor, deceived, unhappy maiden!—­all shall be forgot—­all shall be forgiven.  Fear not my importunity for what regarded our contract—­it was a dream, and I have awaked.  But come—­your father yet lives—­come, and one word of affection, one tear of penitence, will efface the memory of all that has passed.”

“Have I not already said, Tressilian,” replied she, “that I will surely come to my father, and that without further delay than is necessary to discharge other and equally binding duties?—­Go, carry him the news; I come as sure as there is light in heaven—­that is, when I obtain permission.”

“Permission!—­permission to visit your father on his sick-bed, perhaps on his death-bed!” repeated Tressilian, impatiently; “and permission from whom?  From the villain, who, under disguise of friendship, abused every duty of hospitality, and stole thee from thy father’s roof!”

“Do him no slander, Tressilian!  He whom thou speakest of wears a sword as sharp as thine—­sharper, vain man; for the best deeds thou hast ever done in peace or war were as unworthy to be named with his, as thy obscure rank to match itself with the sphere he moves in.—­Leave me!  Go, do mine errand to my father; and when he next sends to me, let him choose a more welcome messenger.”

“Amy,” replied Tressilian calmly, “thou canst not move me by thy reproaches.  Tell me one thing, that I may bear at least one ray of comfort to my aged friend:—­this rank of his which thou dost boast—­dost thou share it with him, Amy?—­does he claim a husband’s right to control thy motions?”

“Stop thy base, unmannered tongue!” said the lady; “to no question that derogates from my honour do I deign an answer.”

“You have said enough in refusing to reply,” answered Tressilian; “and mark me, unhappy as thou art, I am armed with thy father’s full authority to command thy obedience, and I will save thee from the slavery of sin and of sorrow, even despite of thyself, Amy.”

“Menace no violence here!” exclaimed the lady, drawing back from him, and alarmed at the determination expressed in his look and manner; “threaten me not, Tressilian, for I have means to repel force.”

“But not, I trust, the wish to use them in so evil a cause?” said Tressilian.  “With thy will—­thine uninfluenced, free, and natural will, Amy, thou canst not choose this state of slavery and dishonour.  Thou hast been bound by some spell—­entrapped by some deceit—­art now detained by some compelled vow.  But thus I break the charm—­Amy, in the name of thine excellent, thy broken-hearted father, I command thee to follow me!”