“I regret, sir,” said Milton, with utmost deference and respect, “that trouble with my father, almost before I was born, should tinge and shape your opinion of me. It is most unjust.” “Frankly speaking,” said the lawyer, “I do not like you. I do not want an artist in my family.” “You are her father, sir,” said Milton, with suppressed anger, “and that shields you from the answer that rises within me.” Marie interposed at this point, and said: “You are both dear to me, and I beg you, in the name of the love you have for me, do not quarrel.” “I obey your wishes, my darling,” said Milton. “This is no place for discussion of this kind, anyhow,” said Salmon. “Come, Marie, Mr. Clafton was looking everywhere for you.” “I do not wish to see him, father. Good-bye, Milton.” “Good-bye, Marie. May angels guard you everywhere.” And there the lovers parted. The lawyer was full of anger, but he had no chance at that time to show it. CHAPTER XV. THE LOVERS CLASH. Among the guests were Horatio Nugent and Paul Strogoff, each madly, devotedly and passionately, at a distance, watching the Goddess, at whose shrine they worshiped. The preacher, in a rage of despair; Paul, in secret consciousness of his advantage over all others, despite appearances. Each held his secret well before the world, but in the breast of each was a raging volcano, liable to burst forth at any minute. Had any one suspected the preacher of the possession of so strange a secret passion, his story would have been discovered by the hungry, famished look of his eye, which followed the sculptress and her every movement. Strange to relate, Paul exhibited more control over himself. Fate threw these two strongly-contrasted characters together, the flint and the steel. Horatio Nugent plunged at Paul boldly and fiercely, saying: “I would study you.” “Why?” asked Paul. “Because you hold a secret power I would give my life to know.” “And that is?” “The power of winning her regard.” “I would not yield it up for a thousand lives, mine included,” said Paul. “So you are a victim, too?” said the preacher. “Nay, not a victim,” proudly said Paul. “She loves you?” said the preacher, eagerly. “I did not say so.” “And yet I think my words are true.” “Your opinions do not concern me,” said Paul. “They may,” said Horatio Nugent, throwing discretion to the winds, “for I love her, too, and if you stand in my way--well--it will do you no good.” “You are like the rest of your kind--boastful,” said Paul, conscious of his own power, “but in me there is no fear.” “Do not, I pray you, urge me beyond control,” said the preacher, “or you will be made to feel there is something beyond mere brute force.” “This masterly tone,” said Paul, “must cease. I have no liking for you, sir; you hang about the lady’s skirts too much.” “And what is that to you? Are you her protector?” Ouida approached, having from a distance observed that a clash had occurred between these two men.