I will speak to no
one of what has taken place here to-night, but go my ways, forgetful
of you, forgetful of this house, forgetful of all connected with it."

"You are very good," was his quiet reply, "but this wine has to be
drunk." And he calmly poured out a glass, while I drew back in
despair. "You do not drink wine?" he queried, holding up the glass he
had filled between himself and the light. "It is a pity, for it is of
most rare vintage. But perhaps you smoke?"

Sick and disgusted, I found a chair, and sat down in it. If the man
were crazy, there was certainly method in his madness. Besides, he
had not a crazy eye; there was calm calculation in it and not a little
good-nature. Did he simply want to detain me, and if so, did he have a
motive it would pay me to fathom before I exerted myself further to
insure my release? Answering the wave he made me with his hand by
reaching out for the bottle and filling myself a glass, I forced
myself to speak more affably as I remarked:

"If the wine must be drunk, we had better be about it, as you cannot
mean to detain me more than an hour, whatever reason you may have for
wishing my society."

He looked at me inquiringly before answering, then tossing off his
glass, he remarked:

"I am sorry, but in an hour a man can scarcely make the acquaintance
of another man's exterior."

"Then you mean--"

"To know you thoroughly, if you will be so good; I may never have the
opportunity again."

He must be mad; nothing else but mania could account for such words
and such actions; and yet, if mad, why was he allowed to enter my
presence? The man who brought me here, the woman who received me at
the door, had not been mad.

"And I must stay here--" I began.

"Till I am quite satisfied. I am afraid that will take till morning."

I gave a cry of despair, and then in my utter desperation spoke up to
him as I would to a man of feeling:

"You don't know what you are doing; you don't know what I shall suffer
by any such cruel detention. This night is not like other nights to
me. This is a special night in my life, and I need it, I need it, I
tell you, to spend as I will. The woman I love"--it seemed horrible to
speak of her in this place, but I was wild at my helplessness, and
madly hoped I might awake some answering chord in a breast which could
not be void of all feeling or he would not have that benevolent look
in his eye--"the woman I love," I repeated, "sails for Europe
to-m