"How alluring! And suppose I refuse?"
"You can't--you daren't!" He grasped her arm entreatingly. "Don't be a fool, my dear. Ruck is handsome and well off. He is coming down on Saturday to see you. This is Wednesday, so you will have time to think over the matter. You must marry him--you must, I tell you!" and he shook her arm in his agitation.
Beatrice removed her arm in a flaming temper. "Must I indeed?" said she, flashing up into righteous anger. "Then I won't!"
"Beatrice!"
"I won't. I have never seen the man, and I don't wish to see him. You have no right to make any arrangements about my marriage without consulting me. You are neither kith nor kin of mine, and I am of age. I deny your right to arrange my future."
"Do you wish to be left to starve?"
"I shall not starve; but I would rather do so, than marry a man of fifty, whom I have never set eyes on."
"If you don't marry Ruck, you'll be a pauper sooner than you expect, my girl. Marry him for my sake?"
"No! You have done as little as you could for me: you have always hated me. I decline."
Alpenny rose in his turn--Beatrice had already risen to her feet--and faced her in a black fury, the more venomous for being quiet. "You shall marry him!"
"I shall not."
They faced one another, both angry, both determined, both bent upon gaining the victory. But if Alpenny had an iron will, Beatrice had youth and outraged womanhood on her side, and in the end his small cruel eyes fell before her flashing orbs.
"I want you to marry Ruck--really I do," he whimpered piteously.
"Why?"
"Because"---- he swallowed something, and told what was evidently a lie, so glibly did it slip out. "Because I should be sorry to leave you to starve."
"I shall not starve. I am well educated, and can teach. At the worst I can become a nursery governess, or be a companion."
"Better marry Major Ruck."
"No. It is foolish of you to ask me."
"If you don't marry him I shall be ruined. I shall be killed. No"--he broke off suddenly--"I don't mean that. Who would kill a poor old man such as I am? But"--his voice leaped an octave--"you must marry the husband I chose for you."
"I chose for myself."
"Ah!"--the miser was shaking with rage--"it's Vivian Paslow: no denial--I can see he is the man; a penniless scoundrel, who is at my mercy!"
"Don't dare to speak of him like that," flamed out Beatrice. "As to marrying him--he has not asked me yet."
"And never will, if I can stop him. I know how to do so--oh yes, I do. He will not dare to go against me. I can ruin him. He----" At this moment there came a sharp rap at the door, which made Alpenny's face turn white and his lips turn blue.
"Who is there?"
"A telegram," said the voice of Durban; and Alpenny, with a smothered ejaculation of pleasure, went to open the door. As he did so, Beatrice noticed on the wall near the desk two keys, one large and one small. The little one she knew to be the key of the postern gate, and without hesitation she took it down and slipped it into her pocket. As Alpenny turned round with the telegram and no very pleasant expression of countenance, she felt that she would at least be able to see Vivian Paslow on that evening without arousing the suspicions of her stepfather. It was unlikely that any one would come that night, and he would not miss the key, which she could get Durban to replace the next day. As this thought flashed into her mind, she saw the face of the servant at the door. He looked puzzled, but probably that was because he beheld her in the sanctum of his master, hitherto forbidden ground both to him and to her. The next moment Alpenny had closed the door, and Durban went away.
"This telegram is from Major Ruck," said Alpenny. "He is coming down on Saturday, so be ready to receive him."
"I shall leave the place if he comes."
"You won't: you'll wait and see him--and accept him also. If you don't, I'll make things hot for Vivian Paslow."
This was, as Beatrice conceived, a game of bluff; so she replied boldly enough, "Mr. Paslow is able to look after himself. I decline to speak to Major Ruck, whosoever he may be, or even to see him."
"Saturday! Saturday!" said Alpenny coldly, and opened the door. "Now you can go. If you leave The Camp, or if you refuse Ruck as your husband, Vivian Paslow will reap the reward of his crimes." And he pushed her out, locking the door after her with a sharp click.
Crimes! Beatrice stood in the sunlight, stunned and dazed. What did Alpenny mean? What crimes could the man she loved have committed? Almost before she could collect her thoughts she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and turned to behold Durban.
"Wasn't master in his counting-house all this afternoon?" asked the servant. "You should know, missy, as the parlour is opposite."
"Yes, he was," she replied with an effort. "I never saw him come out."
Durban wrinkled his dark brows. "Then how did he send the telegram, to which he has just now had an answer?" he demanded.
"How do you know that this wire is an answer, Durban?"
"The reply was prepaid, missy. How did master do it?"
Beatrice was equally puzzled. Alpenny had not been away from The Camp all the afternoon, yet had contrived to send a telegram, and prepay the reply.
CHAPTER IV
SEEN IN THE LIGHTNING
It was truly a mystery. So far as Beatrice knew, there were but two ways of getting out of The Camp--by the large gate and the smaller one. Yet she in the parlour-carriage, facing Alpenny's counting-house, had not seen him emerge; nor had Durban, busy in the kitchen, the door of which commanded a view of the postern, beheld his master depart. The telegraph office was at the railway station three miles away, and there was no one in The Camp save Durban and his young mistress to send with a wire. Yet the wire had been sent, and the reply had been received. Beatrice ventured an explanation.
"Perhaps my father sent the telegram yesterday."
"No, missy. I took none, and master did not leave the place. No telegram has been sent from here for the last month."
"Is there a third way out, Durban?"
"Not that I know of, missy, and yet----"
What Durban would have said in the way of explanation it is impossible to say, for at this moment the querulous voice of Alpenny was heard calling snappishly. Durban hastened to the door of the counting-house, and it was opened so that he could speak with his master. But he was not admitted within. Beatrice retired to her bedroom-carriage, which was near the parlour, and had only been there a few minutes when Durban came over with a crest-fallen face.
"We
