Elizabeth gasped.  Was this to be the end of her scheming?  Would the blind passion of this madman prevail over her revelations, and Beatrice still become his rich and honoured wife, while she was left poor and disgraced?  Oh, it was monstrous!  Oh, she had never dreamed of this!

“Noble, noble!” murmured Mr. Granger; “noble!  God bless you!”

So the position was not altogether beyond recovery.  His erring daughter might still be splendidly married; he might still look forward to peace and wealth in his old age.

Only Beatrice smiled faintly.

“I thank you,” she said.  “I am much honoured, but I could never have married you because I do not love you.  You must understand me very little if you think that I should be the more ready to do so on account of the danger in which I stand,” and she ceased.

“Listen, Beatrice,” Owen went on, an evil light shining on his heavy face, while Elizabeth sat astounded, scarcely able to believe her ears.  “I want you, and I mean to marry you; you are more to me than all the world.  I can give you everything, and you had better yield to me, and you shall hear no more of this.  But if you won’t, then this is what I will do.  I will be revenged upon you—­terribly revenged.”

Beatrice shook her head and smiled again, as though to bid him do his worst.

“And look, Beatrice,” he went on, waxing almost eloquent in his jealous despair, “I have another argument to urge on you.  I will not only be revenged on you, I will be revenged upon your lover—­on this Geoffrey Bingham.”

“Oh!” said Beatrice sharply, like one in pain.  He had found the way to move her now, and with the cunning of semi-madness he drove the point home.

“Yes, you may start—­I will.  I tell you that I will never rest till I have ruined him, and I am rich and can do it.  I have a hundred thousand pounds, that I will spend on doing it.  I have nothing to fear, except an action for libel.  Oh, I am not a fool, though you think I am, I know.  Well, I can pay for a dozen actions.  There are papers in London that will be glad to publish all this—­yes, the whole story—­with plans and pictures too.  Just think, Beatrice, what it will be when all England—­yes, and all the world—­is gloating over your shame, and half-a-dozen prints are using the thing for party purposes, clamouring for the disgrace of the man who ruined you, and whom you will ruin.  He has a fine career; it shall be utterly destroyed.  By God!  I will hunt him to his grave, unless you promise to marry me, Beatrice.  Do that, and not a word of this shall be said.  Now answer.”

Mr. Granger sank back in his chair; this savage play of human passions was altogether beyond his experience—­it overwhelmed him.  As for Elizabeth, she bit her thin fingers, and glared from one to the other.  “He reckons without me,” she thought.  “He reckons without me—­I will marry him yet.”