“Have you, Ethelwyn?”

“I have not.”

“Then, Captain Everard, you lie.”

“You dare to tell me so?”

And he strode a pace nearer.

“It needs no daring.  I know you too well; and so does another who trusted you and found you false as hell.”

“You presume on your cloth, but—­” he said, lifting his hand.

“You may strike me, presuming on my cloth,” I answered; “and I will not return your blow.  Insult me as you will, and I will bear it.  Call me coward, and I will say nothing.  But lay one hand on me to prevent me from doing my duty, and I knock you down—­or find you more of a man than I take you for.”

It was either conscience or something not so good that made a coward of him.  He turned on his heel.

“I really am not sufficiently interested in the affair to oppose you.  You may take the girl for me.  Both your cloth and the presence of ladies protect your insolence.  I do not like brawling where one cannot fight.  You shall hear from me before long, Mr Walton.”

“No, Captain Everard, I shall not hear from you.  You know you dare not write to me.  I know that of you which, even on the code of the duellist, would justify any gentleman in refusing to meet you.  Stand out of my way!”

I advanced with Miss Oldcastle on my arm.  He drew back; and we left the room.

As we reached the door, Judy bounded after us, threw her arms round her aunt’s neck, then round mine, kissing us both, and returned to her place on the sofa.  Mrs Oldcastle gave a scream, and sunk fainting on a chair.  It was a last effort to detain her daughter and gain time.  Miss Oldcastle would have returned, but I would not permit her.

“No,” I said; “she will be better without you.  Judy, ring the bell for Sarah.”

“How dare you give orders in my house?” exclaimed Mrs Oldcastle, sitting bolt upright in the chair, and shaking her fist at us.  Then assuming the heroic, she added, “From this moment she is no daughter of mine.  Nor can you touch one farthing of her money, sir.  You have married a beggar after all, and that you’ll both know before long.”

“Thy money perish with thee!” I said, and repented the moment I had said it.  It sounded like an imprecation, and I know I had no correspondent feeling; for, after all, she was the mother of my Ethelwyn.  But the allusion to money made me so indignant, that the words burst from me ere I could consider their import.

The cool wind greeted us like the breath of God, as we left the house and closed the door behind us.  The moon was shining from the edge of a vaporous mountain, which gradually drew away from her, leaving her alone in the midst of a lake of blue.  But we had not gone many paces from the house when Miss Oldcastle began to tremble violently, and could scarcely get along with all the help I could give her.  Nor, for the space of six weeks did one word pass between us about the painful occurrences of that evening.  For all that time she was quite unable to bear it.