XV

Nicholas Treffry sat reading the paper in his room by the light of a
lamp with a green shade; on his sound foot the terrier Scruff was asleep
and snoring lightly--the dog habitually came down when Greta was in
bed, and remained till Mr. Treffry, always the latest member of the
household, retired to rest.

Through the long window a little river of light shone out on the veranda
tiles, and, flowing past, cut the garden in two.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps, a rustling of draperies;
Christian, running through the window, stood before him.

Mr. Treffry dropped his paper, such a fury of passion and alarm shone in
the girl's eyes.

"Chris! What is it?"

"Hateful!"

"Chris!"

"Oh! Uncle! He's insulted, threatened! And I love his little finger more
than all the world!"

Her passionate voice trembled, her eyes were shining.

Mr. Treffry's profound discomfort found vent in the gruff words: "Sit
down!"

"I'll never speak to Father again! Oh! Uncle! I love him!"

Quiet in the extremity of his disturbance, Mr. Treffry leaned forward in
his chair, rested his big hands on its arms, and stared at her.

Chris! Here was a woman he did not know! His lips moved under the heavy
droop of his moustache. The girl's face had suddenly grown white. She
sank down on her knees, and laid her cheek against his hand. He felt it
wet; and a lump rose in his throat. Drawing his hand away, he stared at
it, and wiped it with his sleeve.

"Don't cry!" he said.

She seized it again and clung to it; that clutch seemed to fill him with
sudden rage.

"What's the matter? How the devil can I do anything if you don't tell
me?"

She looked up at him. The distress of the last days, the passion and
fear of the last hour, the tide of that new life of the spirit and the
flesh, stirring within her, flowed out in a stream of words.

When she had finished, there was so dead a silence that the fluttering
of a moth round the lamp could be heard plainly.

Mr. Treffry raised himself, crossed the room, and touched the bell.
"Tell the groom," he said to Dominique, "to put the horses to, and have
'em round at once; bring my old boots; we drive all night...."

His bent figure looked huge, body and legs outlined by light, head and
shoulders towering into shadow. "He shall have a run for his money!"
he said. His eyes stared down sombrely at his niece. "It's more than he
deserves!--it's more than you deserve, Chris. Sit down there and write