"Be reasonable, Pauline. Sir Oswald meant what he said. He will most certainly marry, and, when you see yourself deprived of this rich inheritance, you will hate your folly--hate and detest it." "I would not purchase twenty Darrell Courts at the price of marrying a man I do not like," she said, proudly. "You think it an idle threat--it is not so. Sir Oswald meant it in all truth. Oh, Pauline, love, riches, position, wealth, honor--all lie before you; will you willfully reject them?" "I should consider it dishonor to marry you for the sake of winning Darrell Court, and I will not do it. It will be mine without that; and, if not, I would rather a thousand times go without it than pay the price named, and you may tell Sir Oswald so." There was no more pity--no more tenderness in the beautiful face. It was all aglow with scorn, lighted with pride, flushed with contempt. The spell of the sweet moonlight was broken--the Darrell spirit was aroused--the fiery Darrell pride was all ablaze. He felt angry enough to leave her at that moment and never look upon her again; but his position was so terrible, and he had so much at stake. He humbled himself again and again--he entreated her in such wild, passionate tones as must have touched one less proud. "I am a desperate man, Pauline," he cried, at last; "and I pray you, for Heaven's sake, do not drive me to despair." But no words of his had power to move her; there was nothing but scorn in the beautiful face, nothing but scorn in the willful, passionate heart. "Sir Oswald should have known better than to use threats to a Darrell!" she said, with a flash of her dark eyes; and not the least impression could Aubrey Langton make upon her. He was silent at last in sheer despair. It was all over; he had no more hope. Life had never held such a brilliant chance for any man, and now it was utterly lost. Instead of wealth, luxury, happiness, there was nothing before him but disgrace. He could almost have cursed her as she stood there in the moonlight before him. A deep groan, one of utter, uncontrollable anguish escaped his lips. She went nearer to him and started back in wonder at the white, settled despair on his face. "Captain Langton," she said, quietly, "I am sorry--I am sorry--I am indeed sorry--that you feel this so keenly. Let me comfort you." He appealed to her again more passionately than ever, but she interrupted him. "You mistake me," she said; "I am grieved to see you suffer, but I have no thought of altering my mind. Let me tell you, once and for all, I would rather die than marry you, because I have neither liking nor respect for you; but your sorrow I cannot but feel for." "You have ruined me," he said, bitterly, "and the curse of a broken-hearted man will rest upon you!" "I do not think the Darrells are much frightened at curses," she retorted; and then, in all the magnificence of her shining gems and golden-hued dress, she swept from the spot.