Hurrying from this interview, Lawrence thinks, "God help me. It was hard to keep my heart from her," then mutters morosely, "I'll not be called an adventurer,--an heiress hunter. Her million stands up between us more colossal than ever." Though a moment after, he says determinedly: "By Heaven!--No one else shall ever have her--my angel!" At this moment he hears behind him, "A word with you, sir!" and turning, sees Mr. Oliver, who has just noticed the end of the parlor interview with agony and rage. "Certainly. Half a dozen," answers Lawrence. Then he laughs and says, "I am so happy I could even give you five minutes." "Very well,--come with me," whispers Ollie, and getting to a retired part of the hallway he turns upon the captain and remarks oracularly and severely, "I forbid you to call again upon the young lady who is under my charge." "Your authority?" "Her father's." "The young lady under your charge," remarks the Western man sarcastically, "hinted to me last evening that you told fairy tales; that you have no authority whatever in the matter; that she is her own mistress." "The young lady," returns Livingston, pulling down his cuffs in a nervous manner, "knows that her father wishes me to control her life till she marries me." Then getting excited, he bursts forth, "Good Heavens! You don't suppose that Ralph Travenion, who was in his day the greatest club man and swell in New York, would permit his child to marry a frontier Vigilante like you,--almost a mur--" Here Mr. Livingston suddenly checks himself and shrieks out desperately and wildly, "Don't strike me! I was once to have studied for the ministry!" "Oh, very well," says Harry, laughing. "As to the young lady's father, he can say to me what he pleases. I am to see him to-morrow by appointment," and he carelessly smells Erma's rosebud, and continues: "But you had better keep a civil tongue. I am too happy to hit you, for if I did, I might kill you; but I'll take you by your aquiline nose and lead you twice around the nearest barroom, if you are not as polite and as mild and as fragrant as this rosebud," and he walks out, leaving Oliver pale with rage and perspiring with agitation--for Lawrence's laughing mood and his remark that he sees Miss Travenion's father by appointment to-morrow, have frightened Mr. Livingston almost to death. So, coming out from this interview, Harry Lawrence draws his check at Walker Brothers, has it certified, and walks over to Mr. Bussey's Bank, to restore Miss Travenion's money to her letter of credit. Chancing on his errand to meet Bishop Kruger, that gentleman looks at him and chuckles to himself, remembering the ball of the evening before: "You play a strong game, young man, but I rather think I hold the hand on ye this deal," and being reminded of his promise to Miss Travenion, proceeds to hunt up Mr. Ferdie upon Main Street, remarking, "That cigarette boy will play my next chip for me right 'cute."