"My dear madame, softly, softly! Pray, pray do not be so impetuous. Don't jump at such frantic conclusions! I assure you, my words are not empty sound. I mean 'em, every one. I'll do anything in reason for you or your charming niece." "In reason!" said the woman, with a scornful laugh. "Oh, no doubt! You'll take, exceeding good care to be calm and reasonable, and weigh the pros and cons, and not get yourself into trouble to deliver the girl you wanted to marry the other day from captivity--from death, perhaps! She refused you, and that is quite sufficient." "Now, now!" cried Mr. Ingelow, appealing to the four walls in desperation. "Did ever mortal man hear the like of this? Captivity--death! My good woman--my dear lady--can't you draw it a little milder? Is not this New York City? And are we not in the year of grace eighteen hundred and ninety? Pray, don't go back to the Dark Ages, when lovers went clad in clanking suits of mail, and forcibly carried off brides from the altar, under the priest's very nose, _à la_ Young Lochinvar. Do be reasonable, there's a good soul!" Miriam turned her back upon him in superb disdain. "And this is the man Mollie preferred! This is the man I thought would help me! Mr. Hugh Ingelow, I wish you good-evening." "No, no." exclaimed Mr. Ingelow, starting up. "Not yet! Open the mysteries a little before you depart. I'm willing and ready to aid you to the best of my ability. Tell me what I'm to do, and I'll do it." "I have nothing to tell," Miriam said, steadfastly. "I will not put you to the trouble of helping me." "But you must!" cried the artist, suddenly transforming himself into a new man. "If Mollie Dane is really in danger, then I must know, and aid her. No one has a better right, for no one on earth loves her as well as I do." "Ha!" exclaimed Miriam, stopping short. "We have it at last, have we? You love her, then?" "With all my heart, and mind, and strength; as I never have loved, and never will love, any other earthly creature. Now, then, sit down here and tell me, from first to last, what you came here to tell." He wheeled forward a chair, took the woman by both shoulders, and compelled her to be seated. His face was very pale, his eyes alight, his statuesque mouth stern, and set, and powerful. Miriam looked at him with dawning admiration and respect. The man that makes them obey is the man women are pretty safe to adore. "Now, then," he said--"now, Madame Miriam, I want you to begin at the beginning and tell me all. If Mollie Dane is above ground, I will find her." The woman looked up in his handsome face, locked in grim, inflexible resolution--an iron face now--and relaxed. "Mollie was not deceived in you, after all. I am glad of it, I like you. I would give a year of my life to see you safely her husband." "Many thanks! Pity she is not of the same mind!"