f you
knew all I know! You are insulting a man who is generosity itself,
who has power to ruin us all, and yet who seeks to save us if you
will simply take the hand he holds out to you. Remember he can force
us to sell the Castle if we do not consent to hand it over to him,
however much against our own will."

"It is possible that he has secretly acquired the power to drive us
out of the Werve like beggars, but he cannot compel me to marry him."

"We shall see about that," I rejoined, proudly.

"You dare to talk to me of constraint--to me!" she cried, becoming
furious, and advancing towards me--"you, Leopold," she added, with
an accent of real pain.

"Yes, Francis," I answered, resolved to follow up my advantage, "you
shall submit to the constraint of your own conscience, which must
tell you that you owe me an apology. I am going away. Farewell. Try
to reflect on this in your calmer moments. You have touched me to
the quick; you have wounded my feelings of honour and my heart. Do
not let me wait too long, or the wound will become incurable."

I gave her a last look of gentle reproach, but her glassy eyes seemed
insensible to all around her. I shook hands with the old Baron, who,
with bowed head, was weeping like a child. Rolf followed me to my room,
and besought me not to leave the Castle in such haste.

"She is like this," he said, "when anything goes wrong with her. Within
an hour she will regret what she has said, I am sure; the storm was
too violent to last long."

But my mind was made up. I packed up my luggage, slowly, I must
confess, and always listening for a well-known step and a knock, which
should announce Francis repentant and seeking a reconciliation. But
she did not come.

I was miserable beyond all expression. It was like being shipwrecked
in the harbour after a long voyage. To think this was the same woman
at whose feet I had kneeled an hour ago, and whose hand I had kissed
in a delirium of pleasure. And now she had turned upon me like a fury
and declined my offer with contempt! I reflected that I ought to have
acted more frankly and straightforwardly with her. For a moment the
idea occurred to me to renounce all my rights as to Aunt Sophia's
property; but, after all, what good end could it serve--it would
only reduce us both to poverty. I promised myself that, once arrived
at Zutphen, I would send her in writing a complete statement of how
affairs stood, and enclose aunt's letter, which, out o