"She would die rather than be faithless to her betrothed."

"Possibly, supposing that she cares for him--which is doubtful under the circ.u.mstances--she might die rather than discard him; but do you not see that she would discard him rather than bring upon her family unutterable misery and degradation?"

"Do you not see--ruthless fiend that you are! do you not know, even if I and my daughter were mad enough to favor your pretensions, that her father, who alone has the disposal of her hand, would never, never consent to forego his cherished plan of uniting his heiress with one of her own name, so that the family name may go down with the family estate to posterity--to give her to you, a stranger, an adventurer for aught he knows?"

"Most certainly he would--and he will, when he should believe, as he must be made to believe, that his dear daughter has ceased to care for that sailor whose very face she has almost forgotten, and that she has learned to love a certain gay and gallant soldier--has left the navy for the army, so to speak! And when he hears that her happiness, if you please--her happiness, depends upon her marriage with him! And so on and so on! You know how to manage both father and daughter! I leave the matter entirely in your hands! But understand this--Odalite must be my wife before that young midshipman returns home to make trouble. And the marriage must be made to appear to everybody to be her own choice. You may give the girl as much or as little of your confidence as you see fit, only make her clearly comprehend the consequences of her refusal. When she accepts, as she must accept, my proposal, let her know and feel the absolute necessity of her seeming to wish the marriage, especially when in the presence of her father. You understand. It is useless to prolong a painful interview. I leave you to carry out my instructions," said the colonel; and rising, with a low bow, he left the room.

As soon as he was gone the miserable woman started up from her seat, clasped her hands above her head, and walked wildly up and down the room, muttering to herself like any maniac:

"Oh, wretch! wretch! wretch! to stretch me upon such a rack! to put me to such straits! If it were not for Abel! If it were not for my dear, n.o.ble, generous husband, I could brave the worst for myself--and, yes, even for my children! I could take them and go away into exile, poverty, obscurity.

I could meet any fate for myself, or for them, rather than sacrifice my child to such a beast as Angus Anglesea! But--but--I cannot see Abel's n.o.ble head bowed in grief and shame! I cannot! I cannot! So if the Minotaur persists in demanding the maiden, she must be thrown to him.

There is no deliverance--no deliverance!"

CHAPTER VII

THE WOOD-WALK

The "Minotaur" did persist, you may be sure! A beautiful girl and a rich inheritance were not to be given up by him for any scruples of conscience or movements of pity.

He wooed Odalite in the face of her evident aversion, which soon grew to detestation.

He followed her about, joined her in her walks, surprised her in her solitude; he would take no hint from her avoidance, no offense at her coldness, no rebuff from her rudeness; but would take her hand with such a pressure, look at her with such a gaze, speak to her in such a tone as would make the girl's blood run cold with a horrible abhorrence which she could not comprehend.

This went on for a week before the affair came to a crisis.

She had stolen out of the house to avoid him. It was a splendid winter day, and very mild for the season.

She resolved to take a long walk through the woods, even so far as Chincapin Creek, a mile and a half away.

Calling the bulldog, Joshua, after her, she set out with a brisk step over the frozen ground, dry with stubble and shining with frost, and through the bare wood, still glittering with icicles, that were, however, fast melting under the sun's rays.

When she reached Chincapin Creek she sat down on a large stone, over which she had thrown an extra shawl, and she rested in the thought that there at least she might remain for a little time without being disturbed either by the intrusion of her "black beast" or by a summons to attend him.

But she was mistaken.

He, who had watched her every movement, and even by some devilish inspiration seemed to know her every intention beforehand--he, lurking in the shade of the curtain, and looking from his chamber window, had seen her come out of the house, warmly dressed in her quaint walking suit of a brown cloth winter cloak "all b.u.t.toned up before," and brown beaver poke bonnet tied down under her chin, cross the lawn and pa.s.s out of the south gate toward the woods beyond--followed by the faithful house dog.

He knew instinctively why she had left the house and where she was going.

He waited until she had entered the wood, and then he left his hiding place, drew on his overcoat, took his hat and gloves, went downstairs and left the house in pursuit of her.

He walked fast until he came into the woods, where he heard her voice a few rods ahead of him talking to her dog.

Then he slackened his pace and walked softly behind her. The closeness of the undergrowth prevented him from catching even a glimpse of her little poke bonnet; but he still heard her talking to her dog.

Presently these sounds ceased, and he crept cautiously on and found her sitting on a stone at the further end of the rustic bridge that crossed Chincapin Creek, with the dog lying at her feet.

Joshua never could abide Anglesea, and his threatening growl was the first warning that Odalite had of the approach of her natural enemy.

"You should not walk alone in these woods, my dear Miss Force," he said, coming up to her side and leaning on the railing of the bridge as he bent over her.

"I am not alone. The dog is with me, and he would not let any one injure or even annoy me. See! if I had not now his head on my lap and my hands around his neck, he would fly at you even. Easy--easy, Joshua, good fellow!" she added, softly caressing the guardian who was showing his teeth and muttering low thunder.

"I hope I do not annoy you. Miss Force," he pleaded, in a persuasive tone, as he bent nearer to her.

"If I speak the truth, Col. Anglesea, I must say that you certainly do,"

replied the girl, drawing the short ears of her dog through her fingers and watching the process as if it required care.

"In what way am I so unfortunate?"

"You know very well; you follow me wherever I go, and intrude on me when I wish to be alone. I am sorry to speak so to my dear father's guest; but you should remember that you are his guest and not his daughter's, and should give him a little of your society, instead of pressing it all upon me!"

"The steel must follow the magnet! The moth must fly to the flame! And I, beautiful Odalite, must follow you! I have no choice."

"You are talking absurdities, quite unworthy of a man of your age, Col.

Anglesea," replied Odalite, without looking up, and unconsciously pulling her dog's ears so hard that even Joshua's great patience gave way, first in a deprecating whine that produced no effect; and then in a despairing howl that quickly brought his mistress to a sense of her cruelty. She apologized to the victim so earnestly and caressed him so tenderly that Joshua grew ashamed of his want of doghood, and began to a.s.sure his mistress, in eloquent dumb show, that it was all a misapprehension on her part; that he wasn't hurt at all; that she never did hurt him and never could; that, in face, he was howling at--well, at the squirrel over yonder on the tree; or, yes, at the turkey buzzard flying overhead.

Meanwhile Col Anglesea looked on in disgust.

"And do you think, my dear young lady, that this childish play is quite worthy of your years?" he inquired.

"Yes! quite!" she answered, gravely.

"Will you listen to me for a moment?"

"I would rather not, Col. Anglesea; but perhaps, after all, I had better hear what you have to say and get it over. Then, probably, I shall have some peace."

He seated himself on the railing of the bridge, above and a little behind her. And then he made an ardent declaration of his love and an offer of his hand.

Odalite grew pale and cold as she listened to him, not in fear, but in wrath, disgust and abhorrence.

"Has my father authorized you to speak to me on this subject, Col.

Anglesea?" she inquired, in a freezing tone, without looking at him.

"No, my dearest one; but your mother has."

Odalite shook her head with derisive incredulity. Col. Anglesea continued as if he had not seen her gesture:

"And I want your authority to speak to your father of these my most cherished hopes."

"Then, sir, you need not trouble him on the subject. I suppose, sir, that I ought to thank you for the honor you have done me by this offer, but I have to a.s.sure you that it is utterly impossible for me to accept it," she said, in the same icy tone, and without glancing toward him.

"Oh, why, my dear Miss Force?" he inquired, with an insinuating smile, as he bent down to look in her face.

But she kept her eyes averted, as she answered, coldly: