“Why? I did not miss you.” She stood before the fire, her hands behind her back, so that her face was in shadow, while the light played on his. “Do listen and try to trust me,” he said slowly, hunting for words that would terrify her into submission. “You’ve made my father hate you, because of those wild things you said of me when you were shocked, frightened, not yourself. He’s a strange man, and takes fancies that are soon over. His liking for you was one of them.” “He always hated me,” she said calmly. Erle shrugged his shoulders. “That is nonsense. But what I am going to say is earnest, horribly earnest. My father insists you are not in your right mind, that----” “I am the granddaughter of a madman.” She was strangely cold by the fire. “Well?” “He’s going to put you in an asylum,” replied Erle brutally. “He will send you away to-morrow.” Send her away! The house that was her prison seemed suddenly the only place she could not leave. “He can’t--he daren’t!” she cried. “I would tell all I know.” “A story of an island, of jaguars, of madness and sudden death,” he continued slowly. “Can’t you see that story would make any doctor call you mad? He wants to get you out of his way; he would stick at nothing to be rid of you.” “Let me go there!” she muttered. “Where?” He came toward her, his face changing. “Beryl, do you know what I heard in London? Mother Felicitas is offering a reward for you! How far would you get before she would have you?” “Mother Felicitas!” she recoiled. She had almost forgotten her. “A living grave in a convent, or in an asylum, there is not much to choose.” He watched her standing rigid with fear. “Don’t look like that!” he cried, as if pity had overmastered him. “You sha’n’t go to either. I’ll help you; no one shall lay a finger on you.” “You!” “I know you hate me,” he said softly, “but I--love you! I’ve forgotten all the cruel things you said, you had had a shock that was enough to drive you wild. And, hate me or not, I mean to take you out of my father’s hands.” “How?” But she knew. “In the only way I can. Beryl, marry me. Come away with me out of this nightmare.” He was not acting now, for excellent reasons his very soul was in his eyes. “What have I done to you, but tell you the truth about a woman who was not fit to be near you? Come to me and forget all that. You don’t know what life can be. Are you going to throw yours away? If I could convince my father you are in your right mind I would not tell you all this, but I can’t. All I can do is to make you my wife, and then not all the world can harm you.” “It is your father who wants you to marry me,” she broke in scornfully. “Why do you pretend?”