stood between them.

He regarded the young man sternly without removing his hat; with
one hand clasped his niece, and with the other, in which he held his
riding-whip, motioned him towards the door. The young man drew himself
up, and returned his gaze.

'This is well done of you, sir, to corrupt my servants, and enter my
house unbidden and in secret, like a thief!' said Mr Haredale. 'Leave
it, sir, and return no more.'

'Miss Haredale's presence,' returned the young man, 'and your
relationship to her, give you a licence which, if you are a brave man,
you will not abuse. You have compelled me to this course, and the fault
is yours--not mine.'

'It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man,
sir,' retorted the other, 'to tamper with the affections of a weak,
trusting girl, while you shrink, in your unworthiness, from her guardian
and protector, and dare not meet the light of day. More than this I will
not say to you, save that I forbid you this house, and require you to be
gone.'

'It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man to
play the spy,' said Edward. 'Your words imply dishonour, and I reject
them with the scorn they merit.'

'You will find,' said Mr Haredale, calmly, 'your trusty go-between in
waiting at the gate by which you entered. I have played no spy's part,
sir. I chanced to see you pass the gate, and followed. You might have
heard me knocking for admission, had you been less swift of foot,
or lingered in the garden. Please to withdraw. Your presence here is
offensive to me and distressful to my niece.' As he said these words,
he passed his arm about the waist of the terrified and weeping girl, and
drew her closer to him; and though the habitual severity of his manner
was scarcely changed, there was yet apparent in the action an air of
kindness and sympathy for her distress.

'Mr Haredale,' said Edward, 'your arm encircles her on whom I have set
my every hope and thought, and to purchase one minute's happiness for
whom I would gladly lay down my life; this house is the casket that
holds the precious jewel of my existence. Your niece has plighted her
faith to me, and I have plighted mine to her. What have I done that
you should hold me in this light esteem, and give me these discourteous
words?'

'You have done that, sir,' answered Mr Haredale, 'which must be undone.
You have tied a lover'-knot here which must be cut asunder. Take good
heed of what I say. Must