Mr. Hurst lifted his head from where he had buried it in his folded arms, as if to shield his senses from what might be passing within the other room, and starting to his feet, was instantly by his daughter's side. "What is this!" he said, throwing his arm around the half fainting girl, and turning sternly toward her tormentor, "have you dared--" "No, no!" gasped Florence. "I was ill--I--oh, father, without you I have no strength. Save me from myself!" "I will," said Mr. Hurst, gently and with great tenderness drawing the trembling young creature close to his bosom. "I see how it is, she is influenced only by you, sir. I am promised an interview, and left to believe that the lady shall decide for herself, yet even the very first words I utter are broken in upon. I know that this woman loves me." "No, no, I love him not! I did a little hour ago, but now I am changed--do you not see how I am changed?" cried Florence, lifting her head wildly, and turning her pale face full upon her miscreant husband. "Do you not know that your presence is killing me?" "I will go," said Jameson, touched by the wild agony of her look and voice; "I will go now, but only with your promise, Mr. Hurst, that when she is more composed, I may see and converse with her. I will offer no opposition to your wishes; but you will give me a week or two." "Do you wish to see this man again, my child?" said Mr. Hurst, "I can trust you, Florence, decide for yourself." Florence parted her lips to answer, but her strength utterly failed, and with a feeble gasp she sunk powerless and fainting on her father's bosom. Mr. Hurst gathered her in his arms and bore her from the room, simply pausing with his precious burden at the door while he told Jameson, in a calm under tone, to leave the house, and wait till a message should reach him. But the unhappy man was in no haste to obey. For half an hour he paced to and fro in the solitude of that large apartment, now seating himself on the sofa which poor Florence had just left, and again starting up with a sort of insane desire for motion. Sometimes he would listen, with checked breath, to the footsteps moving to and fro in the chamber over-head, and then hurry forward again, racked by every fierce passion that can fill the heart of a human being. "I _will_ triumph yet! I _will_ see her, and that when he is not near to crush every loving impulse as it rises. Once mine, and he will never put his threat into execution, earnest as he seemed. All my strength lies in her love--and it is enough. She suffers--that is a proof of it. She is angry--that is another proof. Yes, yes, I can trust in her, she is all romance, all feeling!"