"And in the same breath," he said at length, "you insult me and ask my permission.""It is vain to ask your permission, I fear, but it is right that you should know my desire and my purpose.""Your purpose?"
"My unalterable purpose."
"You take my daughter out of my house in--in spite of my teeth?"Mr. St. Clair could hardly find words.
"She will come with me," said Ranald, a little proudly.
"And may I ask how you know? Have you spoken to my daughter?""I have not spoken to her openly." The blood rose in his dark face. "But I believe she loves me.""Well, Mr. Macdonald, your confidence is only paralleled by your prodigious insolence.""I hope not," said Ranald, lowering his head from its proud pose.
"I have no desire to be insolent."
Once more Mr. St. Clair looked at him in silence. Then slowly and with quiet emphasis, he said: "Mr. Macdonald, you are a determined man, but as God lives, this purpose of yours you will never carry out. I know my daughter, I think, better than you know her, and Itell you," here a slight smile of confidence played for a moment on his face, "she will never be your wife."Ranald bowed his head.
"It shall be as she wills," he said, in a grave, almost sad, voice.
"She shall decide," and he passed into his office.
All day long Ranald toiled at his desk, leaving himself no time for thought. In the late afternoon Harry came in on his way home.
"Thanks, old chap," said Ranald, looking up from his work; "sha'n't be able to come to-night, I am sorry to say.""Not come?" cried Harry.
"No, it is impossible."
"What rot, and Maimie has waited ten days for you. Come along!""It is quite impossible, Harry," said Ranald, "and I want you to take this note to Maimie. The note will explain to her.""But, Ranald, this is--"
"And, Harry, I want to tell you that this is my last day here."Harry gazed at him speechless.
"Mr. St. Clair and I have had a difference that can never be made right, and to-night I leave the office for good.""Leave the office for good? Going to leave us? What the deuce can the office do without you? And what does it all mean? Come, Ranald, don't be such a confounded sphynx! Why do you talk such rubbish?""It is true," said Ranald, "though I can hardly realize it myself;it is absolutely and finally settled; and I say, old man, don't make it harder for me. You don't know what it means to me to leave this place, and--you, and--all!" In spite of his splendid nerve Ranald's voice shook a little. Harry gazed at him in amazement.
"I will give your note to Maimie," he said, "but you will be back here if I know myself. I'll see father about this.""Now, Harry," said Ranald, rising and putting his hand on his shoulder, "you are not going to mix up in this at all; and for my sake, old chap, don't make any row at home. Promise me," said Ranald again holding him fast.
"Well, I promise," said Harry, reluctantly, "but I'll be hanged if I understand it at all; and I tell you this, that if you don't come back here, neither shall I.""Now you are talking rot, Harry," said Ranald, and sat down again to his desk. Harry went out in a state of dazed astonishment.
Alone Ranald sat in his office writing steadily except that now and then he paused to let a smile flutter across his stern, set face, as a gleam of sunshine over a rugged rock on a cloudy day. He was listening to his heart, whose every beat kept singing the refrain, "I love her, I love her; she will come to me!"At that very moment Maimie was showing her Aunt Murray her London dresses and finery, and recounting her triumphs in that land of social glory.
"How lovely, how wonderfully lovely they are," said Mrs. Murray, touching the beautiful fabrics with fond fingers; "and I am sure they will suit you well, my dear. Have you worn most of them?""No, not all. This one I wore the evening I went with the Lord Archers to the Heathcote's ball. Lord Heathcote, you know, is an uncle of Captain De Lacy.""Was Captain De Lacy there?" inquired Mrs. Murray.
"Yes, indeed," cried Maimie, "and we had a lovely time!" either the memory of that evening brought the warm blushes to her face, or it may be the thought of what she was about to tell her aunt; "and Captain De Lacy is coming to-morrow.""Coming to-morrow?"
"Yes, he has written to Aunt Frank, and to papa as well."Mrs. Murray sat silent, apparently not knowing what to say, and Maimie stood with the dress in her hands waiting for her aunt to speak. At length Mrs. Murray said: "You knew Captain De Lacy before, I think.""Oh, I have known him for a long time, and he's just splendid, auntie, and he's coming to--" Maimie paused, but her face told her secret.
"Do you mean he is going to speak to your father about you, Maimie?" Maimie nodded. "And are you glad?""He's very handsome, auntie, and very nice, and he's awfully well connected, and that sort of thing, and when Lord Heathcote dies he has a good chance of the estates and the title.""Do you love him, Maimie?" asked her aunt, quietly.
Maimie dropped the dress, and sitting down upon a low stool, turned her face from her aunt, and looked out of the window.
"Oh, I suppose so, auntie," she said. "He's very nice and gentlemanly and I like to be with him--""But, Maimie, dear, are you not sure that you love him?""Oh, I don't know," said Maimie, petulantly. "Are you not pleased, auntie?""Well, I confess I am surprised. I do not know Captain De Lacy, and besides I thought it was--I thought you--" Mrs. Murray paused, while Maimie's face grew hot with fiery blushes, but before she could reply they heard Harry's step on the stairs, and in a moment he burst into the room.
"Ranald isn't coming!" he exclaimed. "Here's a note for you, Maimie. But what the--but what he means," said Harry, checking himself, "I can't make out.""Not coming?" cried Maimie, the flush fading from her face. "What can he mean?" She opened the note, and as she read the blood rushed quickly into her face again, and as quickly fled, leaving her pale and trembling.
"Well, what does he say?" inquired Harry, bluntly.
