Roland was inflexible. Seeing which, Renée said, “To Venice, quickly, my brother!” and now she almost sighed with relief to think that she was escaping from this hurricane of a youth, who swept her off her feet and wrapt her whole being in a delirium. “We were in sight of the city just now!” cried Roland, staring and frowning. “What’s this?” Beauchamp answered him calmly, “The boat’s under my orders.” “Talk madness, but don’t act it,” said Roland. “Round with the boat at once. Hundred devils! you haven’t your wits.” To his amazement, Beauchamp refused to alter the boat’s present course. “You heard my sister?” said Roland. “You frighten her,” said Beauchamp. “You heard her wish to return to Venice, I say.” “She has no wish that is not mine.” It came to Roland’s shouting his command to the men, while Beauchamp pointed the course on for them. “You will make this a ghastly pleasantry,” said Roland. “I do what I know to be right,” said Beauchamp. “You want an altercation before these fellows?” “There won’t be one; they obey me.” Roland blinked rapidly in wrath and doubt of mind. “Madame,” he stooped to Rosamund Culling, with a happy inspiration, “convince him; you have known him longer than I, and I desire not to lose my friend. And tell me, madame—I can trust you to be truth itself, and you can see it is actually the time for truth to be spoken—is he justified in taking my sister’s hand? You perceive that I am obliged to appeal to you. Is he not dependent on his uncle? And is he not, therefore, in your opinion, bound in reason as well as in honour to wait for his uncle’s approbation before he undertakes to speak for my sister? And, since the occasion is urgent, let me ask you one thing more: whether, by your knowledge of his position, you think him entitled to presume to decide upon my sister’s destiny? She, you are aware, is not so young but that she can speak for herself...” “There you are wrong, Roland,” said Beauchamp; “she can neither speak nor think for herself: you lead her blindfolded.” “And you, my friend, suppose that you are wiser than any of us. It is understood. I venture to appeal to madame on the point in question.” The poor lady’s heart beat dismally. She was constrained to answer, and said, “His uncle is one who must be consulted.” “You hear that, Nevil,” said Roland. Beauchamp looked at her sharply; angrily, Rosamund feared. She had struck his hot brain with the vision of Everard Romfrey as with a bar of iron. If Rosamund had inclined to the view that he was sure of his uncle’s support, it would have seemed to him a simple confirmation of his sentiments, but he was not of the same temper now as when he exclaimed, “Let him see her!” and could imagine, give him only Renée’s love, the world of men subservient to his wishes.