The San Francisco call., 1896-12-25
"shall follow you, sirq' said Robert,

Shall follow you, sirP" said Robert,
ioubtfuliy.
mo. no; keep indoors; you'll catch
cold, - said the Squire, who could be genial
enough with his dependants when he
chose. "It's quite fine; iii just walk
down the avenue and back again. You
can shut the door,"
He descended the steps, and the hall
door closed behind him, for Robert was
only too glad to exclude the fresh, cool
air.
For some little distance he saw nothing
unusual; then he remarked footsteps in
the snow, and saw that they tended to the
outer gate. He tracked them one by one
IN the faint starlight, and they LED him at
last TO spot where stood the dark hgure
which he was certain that he had seen
from the front door. Yes, there 1t stood,
leaning against the gate, and not moving
IN the very least as the Squire approached.
"HaIioa! Who's thereP What are you
dolngP" cried Mr.. Carteret, inyoluntarily
lifting the stick that he carried in his
hand, although with no i'll intent.
There is no need to strike me. Mr.. Car
teret," voice came out of the darkness to
say. "You can. make your daughters life
miserable as much as you like, and no.
body interferes with you; bnt it is differ
ent matter when you come to deal with
men,"
"Who the devil are youf" exclaimed
the Squire. He lowered his stick and
peered into the darkness. DO 1 know
your"
81 don't suppose you do, said the man,
indifferently. He stepped out of the
shadow and showed the Squire the pale
face and glaring eyes of the stranger who
had played the violin in the kitchen OF
the George. "Now do you know me?"
mot in the least"
81 am your daughters husband-Lance-
lot Hervey."
'Then you are the greatest scoundrel
unhanged p said Mr.. Carteret in tone OF
furious anger. "You stole my daughter
from me by your arts, sir, and when you
had taken her to a foreign country and
burdened her with the care of two chill
dren you deserted her, miserable ruffian
that you are! Deserted her for another
woman, and left her to starve Defend
yourself if you can-I'll give you three
minutes to do it in or to get off my land
or Pll thrash you within an inch of your
life"
''No need to do that" said the man,
quietly. 'I'm at deaths door already,
It's just that which brought me here, Mr..
Carteret. l want to see my wife before l
die. I'll answer to her and not to you for
any harm I've done. But I'll tell you one
thing. If have ever injured her I've not
been as cruel 10 her as it seems you are
yourself and have been ever since she
came home to you."
II don't know what you have heard or
what you mean," said the Squire; but
mis- tone, although gruff. was tritie
subdued.
"PVe heard this said Lancelot Hervey
1--WE heard that you have never forgiven
her for running away with me, that you
never speak to her. that you treat her
with coldness and scorn, so that all the
world knows it and speaks of it. / heard
of 1t in a public place; it was a matter of
common talk in your own village. Do
you call that sort of treatment anything
less than crueltyf"
mot one ia ther in hundred would be
as generous to her as l have been," said
the Squire, condescending to answer the
accusation, rather against bis will.
'GenerousI You think that's the same
thing? You think generosity will satisfy a
woman's heart and soul? / came here to
look at Eleanor. and, if she was happy, TO
go away again without a word. 1 find
that the very yokels in the alehouse des-
cant on the misery of her life. Do you
know what that means to me2 1t means
that l shall stay here and see her and ask
her to come away with me again. l may
have been thoughtless, l may have been
cruel even, but she would be happy, liy-
ing her own life with me, rather than
suffering perpetually from her fathers
anger and caprice"
You insult me, sir. 1t is for you to de-
fend yourself, not to accuse me-"
''lf defend myself at all it will be to
Eleanor"
You will not see Eleanor"
"I Will see my wife, even if have to
force my way to her."
sYou will not see her without my con-
sent, and that shall not give"
"Tyrant to the lastp' cried Hervey. Bit
terly. "Will it make any difference in
your eyes if tell you that ] am dying?
That / wish to ask her forgiveness? That
1 am on my way to warmer climate, and
that risk my short span of life even by
coming here tonight? And yet 1 must
see her"
"Go back to the inn," said the Squire,
rather hoarsely. 81 will tell her that you
are here; she can come to see you if she
likes"