Edwyn Carmel looked at him for some seconds in silence. "I am still puzzled," he said. "I don't know whether you are serious; but, in any case, there's a good hotel in the town--you can go there." "Thank you--without a shilling," laughed the young man, a little wickedly. "A word from me will secure you credit there." "But I'm in the doctor's hands, don't you see?" "It is nothing very bad," answered Mr. Carmel; "and you will be nearer the doctor there." The stranger, sitting up straight, replied: "I suppose I shall; but the doctor likes a walk, and I don't wish him a bit nearer." "But this is, for the time being, my house, and you must go," replied Edwyn Carmel, coldly and firmly. "It is also my house, for the time being; for Miss Ware has given me leave to stay here." The ecclesiastic's lips trembled, and his pale face grew paler, as he stared on the young man for a second or two in silence. "Marston," he said, "I don't know, of all men, why you should specially desire to pain me." "Why, hang it! Why should I wish to pain you, Edwyn? I don't. But I have no notion of this sort of hectoring. The idea of your turning me out of the--my house--the house they have lent me! I told you I didn't want to come here; and now I don't want to go away, and I won't." The churchman looked at him, as if he strove to read his inmost thoughts. "You know that your going to the hotel could involve no imaginable trouble," urged Edwyn Carmel. "Go to the hotel yourself, if you think it so desirable a place. I am satisfied with this, and I shall stay here." "What can be the motive of your obstinacy?" "Ask that question of yourself, Mr. Carmel, and you may possibly obtain an answer," replied the stranger. The priest looked again at him, in stern doubt. "I don't understand your meaning," he said, at last. "I thought my meaning pretty plain. I mean that I rather think our motives are identical." "Honestly, Marston, I don't understand you," said Mr. Carmel, after another pause. "Well, it is simply this: that I think Miss Ware a very interesting young lady, and I like being near her--don't you?" The ecclesiastic flushed crimson; Marston laughed contemptuously. "I have been away for more than a month," said the priest, a little paler, looking up angrily; "and I leave this to-day for as long a time again." "Conscious weakness! Weakness of that sentimental kind sometimes runs in families," said the stranger with a sneer. It was plain that the stranger was very angry; the taunt was wicked, and, whatever it meant, stung Mr. Carmel visibly. He trembled, with a momentary quiver, as if a nerve had been pierced. There was a silence, during which Mr. Carmel's little French clock over the chimney-piece, punctually wound every week by old Rebecca, might be heard sharply tick, tick, ticking. "I shall not be deterred by your cruel tongue," said he, very quietly, at length, with something like a sob, "from doing my duty."