“That Mr. Algernon Blancove’s a rascal.  Stop!  You’ll say as much as you like presently.  I give you a warning—­the man’s a rascal.  I didn’t play spy on your acts, but your looks.  I can read a face like yours, and it’s my home, my home!—­by heaven, it is.  Now, Rhoda, you know a little more of me.  Perhaps I’m more of a man than you thought.  Marry another, if you will; but I’m the man for you, and I know it, and you’ll go wrong if you don’t too.  Come! let your father sleep well.  Give me your hand.”

All through this surprising speech of Robert’s, which was a revelation of one who had been previously dark to her, she had steeled her spirit as she felt herself being borne upon unexpected rapids, and she marvelled when she found her hand in his.

Dismayed, as if caught in a trap, she said,—­

“You know I’ve no love for you at all.”

“None—­no doubt,” he answered.

The fit of verbal energy was expended, and he had become listless, though he looked frankly at her and assumed the cheerfulness which was failing within him.

“I wish to remain as I am,” she faltered, surprised again by the equally astonishing recurrence of humility, and more spiritually subdued by it.  “I’ve no heart for a change.  Father will understand.  I am safe.”

She ended with a cry:  “Oh! my dear, my own sister!  I wish you were safe.  Get her here to me and I’ll do what I can, if you’re not hard on her.  She’s so beautiful, she can’t do wrong.  My Dahlia’s in some trouble.  Mr. Robert, you might really be her friend?”

“Drop the Mister,” said Robert.

“Father will listen to you,” she pleaded.  “You won’t leave us?  Tell him you know I am safe.  But I haven’t a feeling of any kind while my sister’s away.  I will call you Robert, if you like.”  She reached her hand forth.

“That’s right,” he said, taking it with a show of heartiness:  “that’s a beginning, I suppose.”

She shrank a little in his sensitive touch, and he added:  “Oh never fear.  I’ve spoken out, and don’t do the thing too often.  Now you know me, that’s enough.  I trust you, so trust me.  I’ll talk to your father.  I’ve got a dad of my own, who isn’t so easily managed.  You and I, Rhoda—­we’re about the right size for a couple.  There—­don’t be frightened!  I was only thinking—­I’ll let go your hand in a minute.  If Dahlia’s to be found, I’ll find her.  Thank you for that squeeze.  You’d wake a dead man to life, if you wanted to.  To-morrow I set about the business.  That’s settled.  Now your hand’s loose.  Are you going to say good night?  You must give me your hand again for that.  What a rough fellow I must seem to you!  Different from the man you thought I was?  I’m just what you choose to make me, Rhoda; remember that.  By heaven! go at once, for you’re an armful—­”

She took a candle and started for the door.

“Aha! you can look fearful as a doe.  Out! make haste!”