II.

The November days glided by.  The end of the month was approaching, and still Philip Hamlyn stayed on, and was a very frequent visitor at Leet Hall.  Little doubt that Miss Monk was his attraction, and the parish began to say so without reticence.

The parish was right.  One fine, frosty morning Mr. Hamlyn sought an interview with Captain Monk and laid before him his proposals for Eliza.

One might have thought by the tempestuous words showered down upon him in answer that he had proposed to smother her.  Reproaches, hot and fast, were poured forth upon the suitor’s unlucky head.

“Why, you are a stranger!” stormed the Captain; “you have not known her a month!  How dare you?  It’s not commonly decent.”

Mr. Hamlyn quietly answered that he had known her long enough to love her, and went on to say that he came of a good family, had plenty of money, and could make a liberal settlement upon her.

“That you never will,” said Captain Monk.  “I should not like you for my son-in-law,” he continued candidly, calming down from his burst of passion to the bounds of reason.  “But there can be no question of it in any way.  Eliza is to become Lady Rivers.”

Mr. Hamlyn opened his eyes in astonishment.  “Lady Rivers!” he echoed.  “Do you speak of Sir Thomas Rivers?—­that old man!”

“No, I do not, sir.  Sir Thomas Rivers has one foot in the grave.  I speak of his eldest son.  He wants her, and he shall have her.”

“Pardon me, Captain, I—­I do not think Miss Monk can know anything of this.  I am sure she did not last night.  I come to you with her full consent and approbation.”

“I care nothing about that.  My daughter is aware that any attempt to oppose her will to mine would be utterly futile.  Young Tom Rivers has written to me to ask for her; I have accepted him, and I choose that she shall accept him.  She’ll like it herself, too; it will be a good match.”

“Young Tom Rivers is next door to a simpleton:  he is not half-baked,” retorted Mr. Hamlyn, his own temper getting up:  “if I may judge by what I’ve seen of him in the field.”

“Tom Rivers is a favourite everywhere, let me tell you, sir.  Eliza would not refuse him for you.”

“Perhaps, Captain Monk, you will converse with her upon this point?”

“I intend to give her my orders—­if that’s what you mean,” returned the Captain.  “And now, sir, I think our discussion may terminate.”

Mr. Hamlyn saw no use in prolonging it for the present.  Captain Monk bowed him out of the house and called his daughter into the room.

“Eliza,” he began, scorning to beat about the bush, “I have received an offer of marriage for you.”

Miss Eliza blushed a little, not much:  few things could make her do that now.  Once our blushes have been wasted, as hers were on Robert Grame, their vivid freshness has faded for ever and aye.  “The song has left the bird.”