"Pray, sir," said Alfred, turning on Mr. Hurd, "have you any right to interfere between us two?""None whatever," said Julia hastily. "Mr. Hurd, I need no one: I will permit no one to say a word to him. Mr. Hardie knows he cannot enter a house where I am--without an explanation.""What, before a couple of curates?""Do not be insolent to my friends, sir," said Julia, panting.
This wounded Alfred deeply. "Oh, as you please," said he. "Only if you put me on my defence before strangers, I shall, perhaps, put you to the blush before them.""Why do you come here, sir?" said Julia, not deigning to notice his threat.
"To see my betrothed."
"Oh, indeed!" said she bitterly; "in that case why have you postponed your visit so long?""I was in prison.""In prison?"
"In the worst of all prisons; where I was put because I loved you; where I was detained because I persisted in loving you, you faithless, inconstant girl."He choked at these words; she smiled--a faint, uncertain smile. It died away, and she shook her head, and said sadly--"Defend yourself, and then call me as many names as you like. Where was this prison?""It was an asylum: a madhouse."The girl stared at him bewildered. He put his hand into his pocket and took Peggy's letter. "Read that," he said. She held it in her hand, and looked him in the face to divine the contents. "Read it," said he, almost fiercely; "that was the decoy." She held it shaking in her hands, and stared at it. I don't know whether she read it or not.
He went on: "The same villain who defrauded your father of his money, robbed me of my wife and my liberty: that Silverton House was a lunatic asylum, and ever since then (Oh, Julia, the agony of that day) I have been confined in one or other of those hells; sane amongst the mad; till Drayton House took fire, and I escaped: for what? To be put on my defence, by you. What have you suffered from our separations compared with the manifold anguish I have endured, that you dare to receive the most injured and constant of mankind like this, you who have had your liberty all this time, and have consoled yourself for my absence with a couple of curates?""For shame," said Julia, blushing to the forehead, yet smiling in a way her companions could not understand.
"Miss Dodd, will you put up with these insults?" said Mr. Hurd.
"Ay, and a thousand more," cried Julia, radiant, "and thank Heaven for them; they prove his sincerity. You, who have thought proper to stay and hear me insult my betrothed, and put my superior on his defence, look how I receive his just rebuke: Dear, cruelly used Alfred, I never doubted you in my heart, no not for a moment; forgive me for taunting you to clear yourself; you who were always the soul of truth and honour. Forgive me: Itoo have suffered; for I thought my Alfred was dead. Forgive me."And with this she was sinking slowly to her knees with the most touching grace, all blushes, tears, penitence, happiness, and love; but he caught her eagerly. "Oh! God forbid," he cried: and in a moment her head was on his shoulder, and they mingled their tears together.
It was Julia who recovered herself first, and shrank from him a little, and murmured, "We are not alone."The misgiving came rather late: and they were alone.
The other gentlemen had comprehended at last that it was indelicate to remain: they had melted quietly away; and Peterson rushed down the street; but Hurd hung disconsolate about that very entry, where Alfred had just desponded before him.
"Sit by me, my poor darling, and tell me all," said Julia.
He began; but, ere he had told her about his first day at his first asylum, she moaned and turned faint at the recital, and her lovely head sank on his shoulder. He kissed her, and tried to comfort her, and said he would not tell her any more.
But she said somewhat characteristically, "I insist on your telling me all--all. It will kill me." Which did not seem to Alfred a cogent reason for continuing his narrative. He varied it by telling her that through all his misery the thought of her had sustained him. Alas, in the midst of their Elysium a rough voice was heard in the passage inquiring for Mr.
Hardie. Alfred started up in dismay: for it was Rooke's voice. "I am undone," he cried. "They are coming to take me again; and, if they do, they will drug me; I am a dead man.""Fly!" cried Julia; "fly! upstairs: the leads."He darted to the door, and out on the landing.
It was too late. Rooke had just turned the corner of the stairs, and saw him. He whistled and rushed after Alfred. Alfred bounded up the next flight of stairs: but, even as he went, his fighting blood got up; he remembered his pistol: he drew it, turned on the upper landing, and levelled the weapon full at Rooke's forehead. The man recoiled with a yell, and got to a respectful distance on the second landing. There he began to parley. "Come, Mr. Hardie, sir," said he, "that is past a joke:
would you murder a man?"
"It's no murder to kill an assassin in defence of life or liberty; and I'll kill you, Rooke, as I would kill a wasp, if you lay a finger on me.""Do you hear that?" shouted Rooke to some one below.
"Ay, I hear," replied the voice of Hayes.
"Then loose the dog. And run in after him."There was a terrible silence; then a scratching was heard below: and, above, the deadly click of the pistol-hammers brought to full cock.
