drove me to exile, and that now drives me back
from my love. But, by Heaven! it'll take more than her to do it; and
I'll show her again, as I showed her once before, that Scone Dacres is
her master. And, by Jove! she'll find that it'll take more than
herself to keep me away from Minnie Fay."

"See here, old boy," said Hawbury, "you may as well throw up the
sponge."

"I won't," said Dacres, gruffly.

"You see it isn't your wife that you have to consider, but the girl;
and do you think the girl or her friends would have a married man
paying his attentions in that quarter? Would you have the face to do
it under your own wife's eye? By Jove!"

The undeniable truth of this assertion was felt by Dacres even in his
rage. But the very fact that it was unanswerable, and that he was
helpless, only served to deepen and intensify his rage. Yet he said
nothing; it was only in his face and manner that his rage was
manifested. He appeared almost to suffocate under the rush of fierce,
contending passions; big distended veins swelled out in his forehead,
which was also drawn far down in a gloomy frown; his breath came thick
and fast, and his hands were clenched tight together. Hawbury watched
him in silence as before, feeling all the time the impossibility of
saying any thing that could be of any use whatever.

"Well, old fellow," said Dacres at last, giving a long breath, in
which he seemed to throw off some of his excitement, "you're right, of
course, and I am helpless. There's no chance for me. Paying
attentions is out of the question, and the only thing for me to do is
to give up the whole thing. But that isn't to be done at once. It's
been long since I've seen any one for whom I felt any tenderness, and
this little thing, I know, is fond of me. I can't quit her at once. I
must stay on for a time, at least, and have occasional glimpses at
her. It gives me a fresh sense of almost heavenly sweetness to look at
her fair young face. Besides, I feel that I am far more to her than
any other man. No other man has stood to her in the relation in which
I have stood. Recollect how I saved her from death. That is no light
thing. She must feel toward me as she has never felt to any other. She
is not one who can forget how I snatched her from a fearful death, and
brought her back to life. Every time she looks at me she seems to
convey all that to me in her glance."

"Oh, well, my dear fellow, really now," said Hawbury, "just think. You