IR!]

The Colonel, who had heard so far in stormy silence, broke in with,
"Marry my niece, sir! I had rather see my niece dead and laid in her
grave! Consent! I'd as soon consent to her death or dishonour! Name and
place! you neither have them nor will have them!" He turned upon
Jacqueline. "I'll forgive you," he said, breathing heavily, "there in
the library, when you have written and signed a letter to Mr. Lewis Rand
explaining that both he and you were mistaken in your sentiments towards
him. I'll forgive you then, and I'll do my best to forget. But not else,
Jacqueline, not else on God's earth! That's sworn. As for you, sir, I
should think that your awakened sense of propriety might suggest--"

"I am going, sir," answered Rand. "I return to the house but to take my
papers from the blue room. Joab shall saddle my horse at once. You shall
not anger me, Colonel Churchill. I owe you too much. But your niece has
said that she will be my wife, and before God, she shall be! And that's
sworn, too, sir! I leave Fontenoy at once, as is just, but I shall
write to your niece. Part us you cannot--"

"Jacqueline," cried the Colonel, "the sight of you there beside that man
is death to my old heart. You used to care--you used to be a good child!
I command you to leave him; I command you to say good-bye to him now, at
once and forever! Tell him that you have been dreaming, but that now you
are awake. God knows that I think that I am dreaming! Come, come, my
little Jack!"

"Will you tell me that?" asked Rand. "Will you tell me that,
Jacqueline?"

"No!" cried Jacqueline; "I will tell you only the truth! I love
you--love you. Oh, my heart, my heart!" She turned from them both, sank
down upon the summer-house step, and lay with her forehead on her arm.

There was a moment's silence, then, "You see," said Rand, not without
gentleness, to the elder man.

Colonel Churchill leaned on his walking-stick, and his breath came
heavily. He wondered where Edward was--Edward could always find words
that would hurt. At last, "We part, Mr. Rand," he said, with dignity.
"In parting I have but to say that your conduct has been such as I might
have expected, and that I conceive it to be my duty to protect my
misguided niece from the consequences of her folly. I warn you neither
to write to her nor to attempt to see her. If she writes to you
otherwise than as I shall dictate; if she does not, when she has
bethought herself, break with you once an