It was not pleasant to look at the face of Sir Dace as he said it. At these moments of excitement, it would take a dark tinge underneath the skin, as if the man, to use Jack Tanerton's expression, had a touch of the tar-brush; and the dark sullen eyes would gleam with a peculiar light, that did not remind one of an angel. "We saw Henry the Eighth and his six wives," went on Vera. "Jane Seymour looked the nicest." "How _dare_ you talk gibberish, at a moment like this?" raved Sir Dace. "As to that man, I have cursed him. And you will learn to thank me for it." Verena turned whiter than a sheet. Her answering words seemed brave enough, but her voice shook as she spoke them. "Papa, you have no right to interfere with my destiny in life; no, though you are the author of my being. I have promised to be the wife of my cousin Edward, and no earthly authority shall stay me. You may be able to control my movements now by dint of force, for you are stronger than I am; but my turn will come." "Edward Pym--hang him!--is bad to the backbone." "I will have him whether he is bad or good," was Verena's mental answer: but she did not say it aloud. "And I will lock you in your room from this hour, if you dare defy me," hissed Sir Dace. "I do not defy you, papa. It is your turn, I say; and you have strength and power on your side." "Take care you do not. It would be the worse for you." "Very well, papa," sighed Verena. "I cannot help myself now; but in a twelvemonth's time I shall be my own mistress. We shall see then." Sir Dace looked upon the words as a sort of present concession. He concluded Miss Verena had capitulated and would not again go a-roving. So he did not go the length of locking her in her room. Verena was mild as milk the next day, and good as gold. She never stirred from the side of Coralie, but sat practising a new netting-stitch, her temper sweet, her face placid. The thought of stealing out again to meet Mr. Pym was apparently further off than Asia. I have said that I was in London at this time, staying with Miss Deveen. It was curious that I should be so during those dreadful events that were so soon to follow. Connected with the business that kept me and Mr. Brandon in town, was a short visit made us by the Squire. Not that the Squire need have come; writing would have done; but he was nothing loth to do so: and it was lovely weather. He stayed with Mr. Brandon at his hotel in Covent Garden; and we thought he meant to make a week of it. The Squire was as fond of the sights and the shops as any child. I went down one morning to breakfast with them at the Tavistock, and there met Jack Tanerton. Later, we started to take a look at a famous cricket-match that was being played at Lord's. In crossing the Marylebone Road, we met Sir Dace Fontaine. His lodgings were close by, he said, and he would have us go in. It was the day I have just told you of; when Verena sat, good as gold, by her sister's side, trying the new netting-stitch.