The next morning Col. Anglesea resolved to have a decisive conversation with Mrs. Force before the day should be over.

After breakfast he seated himself in the family parlor to await events.

Soon Mr. Force came in to him. He was booted and spurred for a ride.

“I am sorry to have to leave you again to-day, but you know a subpoena is a thing not to be defied,” he said.

“Oh, don’t mind me. Sorry to lose your company, but shall find something to do, no doubt,” replied the colonel.

“I fear it would be quite useless to ask you to ride with me?”

“To court? To spend the day there? Yes, quite. I never permit myself to be bored if I can help it.”

“Good-day, then.”

“Good-day. I wish you a pleasant ride.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Force. And he left the room.

Anglesea kept his seat, and waited for the entrance of Mrs. Force.

There was her workstand, her workbox, her easy-chair and her footstool, in their cozy corner between the open fire and the side window, but she did not come to occupy them.

He knew at length that she was voluntarily absenting herself, in order to avoid a tÊte-À-tÊte with him, to which, if she should come into the sitting room at this time of day, she would be obliged to subject herself, for at this hour all the children were in the schoolroom with their governess, and Odalite with them, helping their German lesson.

As soon as Col. Anglesea divined the reason of Mrs. Force’s absence he resolved to lay a trap for her and catch her.

So he went out into the hall, loudly called on one of the men servants to saddle a horse for him, saying he was going to ride to the post office, made a great fuss putting on his overcoat, cap and gloves, and finally, when the horse was brought around to the door, threw himself into the saddle, and galloped away with so much clatter and bang that the lady, wherever she might be lurking, could not fail to hear and know that he had left the house.

And she did not fail to hear and know it; but she was so astonished at the unusual noise and confusion he made that she asked herself a question which she would not have asked another:

“Is the man intoxicated at this early hour of the morning, that he behaves in this very disorderly manner? Well, I am glad he is gone. I hope it is for all day.”

So saying, she went downstairs to the sitting room, feeling secure against his intrusion.

She took up her work, a piece of silk embroidery, and began to trace the outline of the pattern, humming a little air to herself.

Less than half an hour had the lady sat at her needlework, when the door opened softly.

She heard the slight sound through the silence of the house, looked up, and saw Col. Anglesea enter the room and walk toward her.

She started as if she had seen an apparition, and impulsively exclaimed:

“I thought you were miles away! I thought you had gone out for the day!”

“You heard me gallop off? Doubtless. I took a brisk ride along the turnpike as far as Chincapin Creek, turned down its banks to the shore, cantered along until I reached the bridle path leading up to your stables, and then dismounted, leaving my horse with the groom, and walked to the house. It was a brisk run, but it has done me good,” Col. Anglesea explained, as, uninvited, he drew a chair toward the fire and seated himself at Mrs. Force’s worktable, facing her.

The lady gave her attention to the pattern of her embroidery, and made no reply.

“If you had foreseen my quick return—certainly, if you had foreseen my errand—I should not have found you here; you would have kept out of my way; and even if I had sent a message requesting to speak with you, you would have made some excuse to decline or to defer the interview.”

“Perhaps I should. Why do you intrude upon my privacy, Col. Anglesea? What is it that you want now?” she inquired, with that blending of fear and defiance in her tone and manner which fatally betrayed the weakness of her defenses.

“Friday, I wonder that you should dare to assume such airs toward me—a man who with one word could destroy you!” he answered.

“Knave and coward that you are! Brute and demon as you are! you will not speak that word here!” she muttered, intensely, under her breath, as she fixed her blazing blue eyes upon him.

“There you go with your extravagant compliments again. You always were such a fascinating flatterer, Friday,” said the man, coolly taking up one of her spools of silk and unwinding and rewinding it. “But as to that ‘one word,’ I certainly shall whisper it into Abel Force’s ear, and also into the ears of that many-headed, mighty magician known to us all as ‘Our Reporter,’ when he shall come to me, notebook and lead pencil in hand, to interview me, and hear all the particulars, after the explosion shall be over.”

“And do you presume to suppose that you will be suffered to live after that?” demanded the lady.

“Possibly not. In which case somebody else would have to be interviewed; but that would not help your cause. Come, Friday; the only possible salvation for you will be your full agreement to my terms of silence.”

“Oh! you unmitigated villain!”

“Quite so. I am no halfway weakling, as you know perfectly well—for there are no secrets between us, Friday. You know, and therefore I need not remind you, that I never stop at any means to gain an end. I have an end in view just now. It is the price of my silence.”

“I wonder what new felonies you can possibly be meditating now?” bitterly demanded the lady, in spite of her fears.

“‘What new’—what was the word?”

“Felonies! you ruthless fiend!”

“Ah! Certainly! Thanks! You are too good to say so! Ah—the—enterprise I have in hand just now is one in which you will promptly and zealously give me all the help you possibly can—such effectual assistance, in point of fact, as shall insure its success.”

“And if I do not?”

“‘If you do not?’ I have already told you the consequences. But you are slow to believe them. You do not really believe me to be so thorough-going as you have been good enough to say that I am. You think that at the last there will be some relenting on my part. Disabuse yourself of that illusion. Friday, listen to me: No condemned criminal standing on the trapdoor of a scaffold ever occupied a more dangerous position than you do now. Refuse to co-operate with me in my purpose, and I give the signal that seals your fate—I spring the trap that lets you drop at once into perdition. That is all, my lady.”

“And yet,” groaned Elfrida Force, clasping her hands convulsively together—“and yet neither I nor any one related to me have ever broken any law of the land, or have ever been accused or even suspected of breaking one.”

“That should be a most precious and comforting reflection, Friday, especially if I should be obliged to spring that trap. Many unhappy victims have met their doom with fortitude and resignation under such circumstances.”

“Cease! you dastard, cease!” cried the lady, wringing her hands. “Be silent! or tell me what it is you want, so I may know the worst at once!”

“Quite so. I will not only be silent now, but I will be mute henceforth. Yea, I will be dumb forever!—that is, on certain conditions.”

“What conditions? Why can’t you name them? Are they so infamous that even you shrink from telling me? In a word, what do you want?”

“‘In a word,’ then: I want—Odalite,” coolly replied the colonel.

The lady gazed at the man with eyes slowly dilating with horror.

“Odalite!” she gasped, under her breath.

“Yes, if you please. I hear that the girl is considered marriageable. I hear also a rumor to the effect that she may possibly be married to that young midshipman who is expected home at Christmas—unless I supplant him, which I hope to do, for she cannot care for him really, you know, since they parted when they were boy and child.”

“But she does care for him. She loves him as he loves her. They have always been devoted to each other,” indignantly retorted Elfrida Force.

The colonel laughed insolently.

“Boy and girl love! Puppy love! Pigeon love! We will soon change all that.”

“If she did not care at all for Leonidas Force, still I know it is utterly impossible she should ever care for you.”

“I would make her love me—or pretend to do so.”

“Even if she were to become so deranged in mind, so demoralized in heart as to love you, I should never consent to such a monstrous marriage!” passionately declared Elfrida Force.

“Oh, yes you would! You will, when you realize that unless you do, your family peace and honor, your social position and prosperity—all you prize and pride yourself upon—must suddenly fall and bury you and yours under their ruins. Are you prepared to meet such a catastrophe? Indeed, to pull down destruction upon yourself, your husband, your daughters—all whom you love and cherish? Are you prepared to see your name blazoned all over the world as the subject of an unexampled scandal in high life? Are you prepared to see your husband and daughters—die of——Who can foresee their fate? Are you willing that this discovery should wreck and destroy your home and your family, root and branch, and leave nothing of you but the memory of one dishonored name behind? Are you ready to incur all this irremediable woe and ruin? For be sure that in refusing me your daughter’s hand, you do incur it.”

“Do you think, reckless knave as you are! do you think, even if I were so lost to every sense of honor and decency as to wish to sacrifice my dear daughter, that she would ever be persuaded to become your wife?” said the lady, and her voice sounded hollow from the depths of her distress.

“Oh, yes! certainly! when she hears, as she must hear, if necessary, all that depends upon her consent.”

“She would die rather than be faithless to her betrothed.”

“Possibly, supposing that she cares for him—which is doubtful under the circumstances—she might die rather than discard him; but do you not see that she would discard him rather than bring upon her family unutterable misery and degradation?”

“Do you not see—ruthless fiend that you are! do you not know, even if I and my daughter were mad enough to favor your pretensions, that her father, who alone has the disposal of her hand, would never, never consent to forego his cherished plan of uniting his heiress with one of her own name, so that the family name may go down with the family estate to posterity—to give her to you, a stranger, an adventurer for aught he knows?”

“Most certainly he would—and he will, when he should believe, as he must be made to believe, that his dear daughter has ceased to care for that sailor whose very face she has almost forgotten, and that she has learned to love a certain gay and gallant soldier—has left the navy for the army, so to speak! And when he hears that her happiness, if you please—her happiness, depends upon her marriage with him! And so on and so on! You know how to manage both father and daughter! I leave the matter entirely in your hands! But understand this—Odalite must be my wife before that young midshipman returns home to make trouble. And the marriage must be made to appear to everybody to be her own choice. You may give the girl as much or as little of your confidence as you see fit, only make her clearly comprehend the consequences of her refusal. When she accepts, as she must accept, my proposal, let her know and feel the absolute necessity of her seeming to wish the marriage, especially when in the presence of her father. You understand. It is useless to prolong a painful interview. I leave you to carry out my instructions,” said the colonel; and rising, with a low bow, he left the room.

As soon as he was gone the miserable woman started up from her seat, clasped her hands above her head, and walked wildly up and down the room, muttering to herself like any maniac:

“Oh, wretch! wretch! wretch! to stretch me upon such a rack! to put me to such straits! If it were not for Abel! If it were not for my dear, noble, generous husband, I could brave the worst for myself—and, yes, even for my children! I could take them and go away into exile, poverty, obscurity. I could meet any fate for myself, or for them, rather than sacrifice my child to such a beast as Angus Anglesea! But—but—I cannot see Abel’s noble head bowed in grief and shame! I cannot! I cannot! So if the Minotaur persists in demanding the maiden, she must be thrown to him. There is no deliverance—no deliverance!”