’I will tell you the whole truth, father; and then you shall say yourself whether I have been trying to do mischief, and shall say also whether you will forgive me.  You will remember when you told me that I was not to think of Marie Bromar for myself.’

‘I do remember.’

’Well; I had thought of her.  If you wanted to prevent that, you were too late.’

‘You were boys and girls together; that is all.’

’Let me tell my story, father, and then you shall judge.  Before you had spoken to me at all, Marie had given me her troth.’

‘Nonsense!’

’Let me at least tell my story.  She had done so, and I had given her mine; and when you told me to go, I went, not quite knowing then what it might be best that we should do, but feeling very sure that she would at least be true to me.’

‘Truth to any such folly as that would be very wicked.’

’At any rate, I did nothing.  I remained there month after month; meaning to do something when this was settled,—­meaning to do something when that was settled; and then there came a sort of rumour to me that Marie was to be Urmand’s wife.  I did not believe it, but I thought that I would come and see.’

‘It was true.’

’No;—­it was not true then.  I came over, and was very angry because she was cold to me.  She would not promise that there should be no such engagement; but there was none then.  You see I will tell you everything as it occurred.’

’She is at any rate engaged to Adrian Urmand now, and for all our sakes you are bound not to interfere.’

’But yet I must tell my story.  I went back to Colmar, and then, after a while, there came tidings, true tidings, that she was engaged to this man.  I came over again yesterday, determined,—­you may blame me if you will, father, but listen to me,—­determined to throw her falsehood in her teeth.’

‘Then I will protect her from you,’ said Michel Voss, turning upon his son as though he meant to strike him with his staff.

‘Ah, father,’ said George, pausing and standing opposite to the innkeeper, ’but who is to protect her from you?  If I had found that that which you are doing was making her happy,—­I would have spoken my mind indeed; I would have shown her once, and once only, what she had done to me; how she had destroyed me,—­and then I would have gone, and troubled none of you any more.’

’You had better go now, and bring us no more trouble.  You are all trouble.’

’But her worst trouble will still cling to her.  I have found that it is so.  She has taken this man not because she loves him, but because you have bidden her.’

‘She has taken him, and she shall marry him.’

’I cannot say that she has been right, father; but she deserves no such punishment as that.  Would you make her a wretched woman for ever, because she has done wrong in striving to obey you?’