’She has not done wrong in striving to obey me.  She has done right.  I do not believe a word of this.’

‘You can ask her yourself.’

’I will ask her nothing,—­except that she shall not speak to you any farther about it.  You have come here wilfully-minded to disturb us all.’

‘Father, that is unjust.’

’I say it is true.  She was contented and happy before you came.  She loves the man, and is ready to marry him on the day fixed.  Of course she will marry him.  You would not have us go back from our word now?’

’Certainly I would.  If he be a man, and she tells him that she repents,—­if she tells him all the truth, of course he will give her back her troth.  I would do so to any woman that only hinted that she wished it.’

’No such hint shall be given.  I will hear nothing of it.  I shall not speak to Marie on the subject,—­except to desire her to have no farther converse with you.  Nor will I speak of it again to yourself; unless you wish me to bid you go from me altogether, you will not mention the matter again.’  So saying, Michel Voss strode on, and would not even turn his eyes in the direction of his son.  He strode on, making his way down the hill at the fastest pace that he could achieve, every now and then raising his hat and wiping the perspiration from his brow.  Though he had spoken of Marie’s departure as a loss that would be very hard to bear, the very idea that anything should be allowed to interfere with the marriage which he had planned was unendurable.  What;—­after all that had been said and done, consent that there should be no marriage between his niece and the rich young merchant!  Never.  He did not stop for a moment to think how much of truth there might be in his son’s statement.  He would not even allow himself to remember that he had forced Adrian Urmand as a suitor upon his niece.  He had had his qualms of conscience upon that matter,—­and it was possible that they might return to him.  But he would not stop now to look at that side of the question.  The young people were betrothed.  The marriage was a thing settled, and it should be celebrated.  He had never broken his faith to any man, and he would not break it to Adrian Urmand.  He strode on down the mountain, and there was not a word more said between him and his son till they reached the inn doors.  ’You understand me,’ he said then.  ‘Not a word more to Marie.’  After that he went up at once to his wife’s chamber, and desired that Marie might be sent to him there.  During his rapid walk home he had made up his mind as to what he would do.  He would not be severe to his niece.  He would simply ask her one question.

‘My dear,’ he said, striving to be calm, but telling her by his countenance as plainly as words could have done all that had passed between him and his son,—­’Marie, my dear, I take it for—­granted—­ there is nothing to—­to—­to interrupt our plans.’