“Nay, Everell—my love—I implore—on my knees! Must I plead with you as I pleaded with my uncle? You should know I cannot endure the thought of your death. Only that you live, that is enough! Go, I beseech!—let not my sacrifice be in vain.” “You sha’n’t make the sacrifice,” he said, fiercely. “’Tis made already: my uncle has my promise.” “Your uncle!—where is he?” And Everell strode into the dining-room, followed by the three women. Before he had time to reach the drawing-room door, it was opened from the other side, and Everell had no farther to go to meet Foxwell, who had heard the young man’s loud-spoken words. At sight of Georgiana, her uncle made an ejaculation, and advanced toward Everell with a resentful look: he held in one hand a pen, in the other the letter which the sound of Everell’s voice had interrupted; and this time both Mrs. Winter and Rashleigh took the liberty of intruding upon the scene. “Ah, you come in good time!” cried Everell. “I refuse my liberty at the price you set. She shall not marry another to save me.” “’Tis too late, sir,” said Foxwell, with forced quietness; “she has already bound herself by her promise.” “Then give her back her promise, as I give myself back to you!” “Pardon me, but you have no part in the covenant: ’tis between my niece and myself—your liberty for her promise. Even were she inclined to cancel the agreement, she cannot do so now: I have given your liberty, have performed my part: she is bound by her promise.” “You see ’tis too late, Everell,” said Georgiana, in whom every other feeling yielded to anxiety for his safety; “you cannot mend matters now. Save yourself—at least that!—for my sake!” For a moment her lover was thoughtful. He threw back his cloak at both shoulders, so that it hung behind him. To enforce her plea, Georgiana laid her hand upon his arm: she stepped forward so that she now stood beside him. “But _I_ am not bound by her promise,” said Everell to Foxwell. “You are no longer bound by anything, sir, to me,” Foxwell replied. “If you insist upon staying in this neighbourhood, ’tis at your own peril. And I warrant you ’twill avail nothing: I shall see that my niece neither leaves her apartments, nor communicates with any one outside them, until her marriage; you force me to that use of my authority.” Before Everell could answer, a voice was heard in the hall doorway behind him—Caleb’s voice, addressed to Foxwell: “Please, your Honour, Joseph has the horse ready, sir.” The word “horse” shot through the confusion of Everell’s thoughts. “Tell Joseph to wait,” said Foxwell, glancing at the unfinished letter in his hand. Everell heard Caleb walk away through the hall to the house door. He knew there was a mounting-block at the side of that door: would Joseph let the horse wait there, or walk it up and down the courtyard? “And now again, Mr. Everell,” resumed Foxwell, “I bid you farewell; and I beg that this leave-taking may be final.”