When Odalite had signified her acceptance of the suit of Anglesea, although she had expressed herself in not too flattering language, the gallant colonel would have assumed the rÔle of a favored lover and advanced to embrace her; but she lifted both hands and turned away her head with a look of repulsion calculated to cool the ardor of the warmest suitor, as she cried, sternly:

“Stand back! Do not dare to lay a finger on me! I do not belong to you! I am not yet your property! You are not my owner! You have not received my father’s permission to take possession of me! Go to him and tell him the falsehood you first suggested! Oh! how I hate you!”

And pale and cold and hard as she always was in his presence, with a loathing that was too deep for flush of cheek or flash of eye, she turned and re-entered the house.

He looked after her with a perfectly demoniacal expression of mingled longing and malignity, muttering:

“Oh, very well, my lady! It is your day now! But it will be mine soon! And then I shall know how to reduce you to submission.”

He took another cigar from his pocket case, lighted it and recommenced his slow walk up and down the porch, smoking as before.

So far his plan had succeeded. The mother’s consent to his marriage with the heiress had been wrung from her through her fears for her husband. The daughter’s consent had been wheedled from her through her love for her mother. These certainly seemed the most important steps toward ultimate triumph. But yet there remained the father’s consent to be obtained. And this, which at first seemed of little moment, now grew into something of grave consideration.

To be sure, he could easily go to Mr. Force and tell him that he loved his daughter, and that he wished to marry her; also that he had been so fortunate as to win such an interest in her heart as to make this marriage a matter in which her life’s happiness was concerned.

He could say all this and more, without troubling himself about its truthfulness; and so far, well.

But how should he justify himself to his host for having taken advantage of opportunity and abused hospitality by seeking the affections of the young daughter of his host, when he knew that her father cherished other matrimonial intentions for her, in which she also had perfectly coincided, until allured from her fidelity by the trusted guest of the house?

Ay! how should he explain all this to Mr. Force?

Not so very easily; but, then, Col. Anglesea was a very plausible person, and Mr. Force was one of the least suspicious among men.

Anglesea, walking up and down the porch, and puffing away at his cigar, resolved to put on an air of blunt, soldierly frankness; tell Mr. Force—what he chose to call—the state of the case, and leave the affair in her father’s hands, to be dealt with as he should see fit—knowing full well what the event would be.

Now that the girl’s consent to the marriage was secured, and her lips were sealed as to her own feelings on the subject, Col. Anglesea had no fears of the final result; nor was he in such special haste as to think it necessary to trouble Mr. Force with his suit on this same night, when the good gentleman should return, weary from his day’s attendance at court.

Therefore he resolved to defer the important interview until the next morning, when his own method of procedure might also be more matured.

Mr. Force, in fact, came home rather late that evening. Tea had been kept waiting for him so long that it was nearly nine o’clock when the family assembled around the table.

There were Mr. and Mrs. Force, Col. Anglesea, Miss Meeke, Wynnette and Elva; but there was one absentee.

“Where is Odalite?” inquired her father, looking around the table.

“She has gone to bed with a nervous headache,” replied her mother.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” said the father, uneasily.

“Oh, no, nothing at all serious,” answered the mother.

“I never knew Odalite to have a headache in her life before,” said Mr. Force.

“No, but then—

quoted the lady, with a forced smile.

Col. Anglesea engaged Mr. Force in conversation to draw off his attention from Mrs. Force, who seemed to have some difficulty in maintaining her self-possession.

After tea his host proposed a game of whist, and the party of four grown people sat down to a rubber.

Col. Anglesea and Mrs. Force played against Mr. Force and Miss Meeke.

The colonel and the hostess beat the rubber. And soon afterward the circle separated and retired to rest.

It was just after breakfast the next morning when Col. Anglesea said to his host:

“Force, can you give me a few moments private conversation before you go away this morning?”

“Certainly. Come in here,” said the master of the house, leading the way to the vacant drawing room, and wondering much what Anglesea could possibly have to say to him in private.

“You will be very much surprised, and, I fear, very much displeased at what I am about to say to you; and yet, Force, I must say it. No other course is open to me, as a man of honor!” began Col. Anglesea, when the key was turned in the door and both men were seated.

“Whatever can you have to say to me that requires such deep solemnity of introduction?” demanded Mr. Force, with a light laugh, and yet with some uneasiness.

“It is this, then. Do not be offended. But I cannot help it—I love your daughter!” said the colonel, with that affectation of bluntness he had determined upon.

Mr. Force, with hands on knees, bent forward and stared at the speaker.

“You—love—my—daughter!” he slowly repeated.

“Yes! I cannot help it. If it be a crime, I cannot help it! If I were to be shot for it, I could not help it!”

“But, man alive! she is only sixteen, and you must be near forty! Quite old enough to be her father!”

“Yes, quite! You are right, and that is the worst of it! And doubtless I am a fool! But there! I love her! I cannot help it, I say!”

“But, dear me, Anglesea, you know it is of no sort of use your loving Odalite. She is to marry her cousin, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I am very sorry for this, Anglesea.”

“If it were only myself that is concerned I pledge you my word of honor that I would go away at once and bear my disappointment like a man. But, oh! Force, it is not only myself. I am not the only one whose happiness is at stake in this matter,” said the colonel, solemnly.

Mr. Force stared at him uneasily.

“You do not mean—you do not mean—— What do you mean, man?” he demanded at length.

“Let me be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Force. Nothing was further from my—from our—intention than that which has happened. We drifted into this. When I discovered that my heart was irrevocably given to your daughter, and remembered that you had other views for her than my poor alliance, I was shocked and disgusted with myself, and I would have finished my long visit here, and would have gone away to distract my sorrow in extended travel; but when, too late, I also discovered that—well, it seems strange—but there is no accounting for such occurrences.”

“In a word, what do you mean?” demanded Mr. Force, more and more disturbed.

“I mean that this attachment is reciprocal; that your lovely daughter returns my affection. Seeing that—as a man of honor, not to say a man in love—what could I do? I have made your daughter an offer of my hand, subject to your approval. She bids me say to you that her happiness is dependent on your consent to our marriage, and then to give the matter entirely in your hands, where I now place it, and leave it.”

“Good heavens, Anglesea! this is a great shock to me! a very great shock!” exclaimed Mr. Force.

“I am sorry for it—very sorry. We place ourselves absolutely at your disposal, and submit ourselves to your will. We can do no more.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I think I must have begun to love your daughter from the first hour in which I saw her; but I think the growth of the interest was so gradual that I was not conscious of it until it was too late.”

“When you put it to me as a hypothetical case, whether, if my daughter’s happiness were involved in some other marriage, I would consent to forego my cherished plan of marrying her to her cousin, had you this case of yours and hers in view?”

“Not consciously. But we are such ‘self-deceivers ever’ that I may have had this at the bottom of my heart.”

“My girl has been looking ill and out of spirits lately. Poor child!” said the father, reflectively. “Now, is her loss of bloom and cheerfulness caused by this affair between you?”

“I will tell you as truly as I can what has been on her mind,” said the colonel, with a show of the most perfect candor. “She is struggling between her sense of duty to you and her affection for me. She thinks she ought to marry the young midshipman because you have set your heart on her doing so; and yet she does not wish to marry any one except your unworthy servant here present. This terrible struggle has been too much for her. Yesterday I proposed that we should end it all by coming to you, making a full confession for both of us, and leaving our fate in your hands.”

“It is a terrible shock! a terrible shock! Have you spoken to her mother?”

“Yes; but she very properly referred me to you.”

There was a pause of some moments, during which Mr. Force arose from his seat and walked uneasily up and down the whole length of the drawing room several times. Finally he stopped before the colonel, and said:

“Anglesea, this has been so sudden—so utterly unexpected—that I feel bewildered by it all. I cannot trust myself to give you an answer this morning. I must have a talk with her mother—yes, and with herself. I must try and get at the bottom of this change of sentiment in my daughter. I must leave you now.”

“I thank you, Force, for the indulgence with which you have heard me. I feel like a very villain to have come into your house, accepted your princely hospitality and used the opportunity and abused the trust so viciously as to have won the heart of your daughter, and to have disappointed all your cherished hopes of another alliance for her. All I can say is——”

“Say no more, my dear Anglesea. These things cannot be prevented. ‘The demands of the heart are absolute.’ The fault—the presumption—was mine, in daring to think that any human being could make a match for another. In daring to try to make a match between my daughter and her cousin merely to gratify my ambition of sending the family name down to posterity with the family estate. There should be no ‘parental’ or other interference in such sacred matters. You and my daughter have become attached to each other. It is enough. I must speak to her mother, and, if need be, we must both bear our disappointment as we best can.”

“But, my dear Force, if you feel this so deeply, there need be no final disappointment. Your fair daughter is very young. She may soon be able to forget me in the attractive society of some other and more favored suitor. As for me, I can go away; and though it is not likely that one of my age, loving for the first time in my life, will ever be able to forget my love, yet I hope I am man enough to bear my sorrow without complaint. Come, my kind host, the case is really at your disposal,” said the colonel, with an air of frank generosity that would have deceived an angel.

“You are a noble fellow, Anglesea! A noble, open-minded fellow! I must consider my daughter. I must consider my daughter! And I have no doubt that this affair will end as you wish.”

“You are really too good—too self-sacrificing! I, too, should consider your dear daughter’s welfare above all other interests. But, see here, Force, in the event of my ever becoming the happy husband of your eldest child, what should there be to hinder me from taking the family name? I am the younger son of such a long line of younger sons that the marquisate must be at least a hundred removes from me, or I from the marquisate, whichever you like. So your cherished hope may yet be fulfilled in me.”

“You are generous, Anglesea! I had not thought of such a concession from you. I should not have presumed to suggest it.”

“What possible concession would I not make in order not only to win the daughter, but to satisfy the father?”

“Thank you, thank you, Anglesea! I will speak to you further on the subject when I have conferred with my wife. There is my horse,” he said, glancing through the front window, “and I must be off now to meet my engagement. Good-morning.”

And Mr. Force warmly shook the hand of his guest, and left the room.

He paused in the front hall for a few moments, and seemed to fumble a good deal with his overcoat, gloves and hat before he finally appeared on the outside equipped for his journey.

Then he hastily threw himself into his saddle, and rode off, attended by his mounted groom.

Col. Anglesea walked leisurely down to the stables, chose a horse to his mind, ordered him to be saddled and brought up to the house, and then he returned to prepare himself for a “constitutional” gallop along the highroad.

Mrs. Force confined herself to her own room that day.

Odalite walked out into the woods, and then down to the seashore, followed by her faithful companion, Joshua.

The two younger children remained shut up in the schoolroom with Miss Meeke, diligently preparing for their home examination, that was to earn for them, if satisfactorily passed, many Christmas premiums and a long Christmas holiday.

And so the bright and kindly winter day passed.

When Col. Anglesea came home to dinner he found only Miss Meeke and the two little girls in the dining room.

Miss Meeke apologized for the absence of the ladies, pleading that Mrs. Force was suffering from indisposition, and that Miss Force was attending her; and with this explanation the governess took the head of the table.

Col. Anglesea politely expressed his regret, and then made himself as agreeable as possible to the remaining party.

It was so very late when Mr. Force returned that, finding the family had already taken tea, he declined the refreshment offered by Miss Meeke, and pleading fatigue, excused himself and retired, expressing his satisfaction, however, that the trial which had occupied so much of his time was at length happily concluded.