40+ Adventure Novels & Lost World Mysteries in One Premium Edition. Henry Rider Haggard

and ingratitude that you are!" she said, stamping her foot upon the floor, and the tears of vexation standing in her eyes.

      "The letters, my dear Anne; remember that you have got to earn your letters. I am very much obliged to you for your nursing, but business is business."

      She was silent for a moment, and then spoke in her ordinary tone.

      "By the way, talking of letters, there was one came for you this morning in your cousin Philip's handwriting, and with a London postmark. Will you read it?"

      "Read it—yes; anything from the father of my inamorata will be welcome."

      She fetched the letter and gave it him. He read it aloud. After a page of congratulations on his convalescence, it ended,

      "And now I want to make a proposal to you—viz., to buy back the Isleworth lands from you. I know that the place is distasteful to you, and will probably be doubly so after your severe illness; but, if you care to keep the house and grounds, I am not particularly anxious to acquire them. I am prepared to offer a good price," &c. &c.

      "I'll see him hanged first," was George's comment. "How did he get the money?"

      "Saved it and made it, I suppose."

      "Well, at any rate, he shall not buy me out with it. No, no, Master

       Philip; I am not fond enough of you to do you that turn."

      "It does not strike you," she said, coldly, "that you hold in your hands a lever that may roll all your difficulties about this girl out of the way."

      "By Jove, you are right, Anne. Trust a woman's brain. But I don't want to sell the estates unless I am forced to."

      "Would you rather part with the land, or give up your project of marrying Angela Caresfoot?"

      "Why do you ask?"

      "Because you will have to choose between the two."

      "Then I had rather sell."

      "You had better give it up, George. I am not superstitious, but I have knowledge in things that you do not understand, and I foresee nothing but disaster in this plan."

      "Once and for all, Anne, I will not give it up whilst I have any breath left in my body, and I take my oath that unless you help me, and help me honestly, I will expose you."

      "Oh! I am your very humble servant; you may count on me. The galley- slave pulls well when the lash hangs over his shoulders," and she laughed coldly.

      Just then a servant announced that Mr. Caresfoot was at the door, and anxious to speak to his cousin. He was ordered to show him into the drawing-room. As soon as he had gone on his errand, George said,

      "I will not see him; say I am too unwell. But do you go, and see that you make the most of your chance."

      Lady Bellamy nodded, and left the room. She found Philip in the drawing-room.

      "Ah! how do you do, Mr. Caresfoot? I come from your cousin to say that he cannot see you to-day; he has scarcely recovered sufficiently from the illness through which I have been nursing him; but of course you know all about that."

      "Oh! yes, Lady Bellamy, I have heard all about it, including your own brave behaviour, to which, the doctor tells me, George owes his life. I am sorry that he cannot see me, though. I have just come down from town, and called in on my way from Roxham. I had some rather important business that I wanted to speak about."

      "About your offer to repurchase the Isleworth lands?" she asked.

      "Ah! you know of the affair. Yes, that was it."

      "Then I am commissioned to give you a reply."

      Philip listened anxiously.

      "Your cousin absolutely refuses to sell any part of the lands."

      "Will nothing chance his determination? I am ready to give a good price, and pay a separate valuation for the timber."

      "Nothing; he does not intend to sell."

      A deep depression spread itself over her hearer's face.

      "Then there go the hopes of twenty years," he said. "For twenty long years, ever since my misfortune, I have toiled and schemed to get these lands back, and now it is all for nothing. Well, there is nothing more to be said," and he turned to go.

      "Stop a minute, Mr. Caresfoot. Do you know, you interest me very much."

      "I am proud to interest so charming a lady," he answered, a touch of depressed gallantry.

      "That is as it should be; but you interest me because you are an instance of the truth of the saying that every man has some ruling passion, if only one could discover it. Why do you want these particular lands? Your money will buy others just as good."

      "Why does a Swiss get home-sick? Why does a man defrauded of his own wish to recover it?"

      Lady Bellamy mused a little.

      "What would you say if I showed you an easy way to get them?"

      Philip turned sharply round with a new look of hope upon his face.

      "You would earn my eternal gratitude—a gratitude that I should be glad to put into a practical shape."

      She laughed.

      "Oh! you must speak to Sir John about that. Now listen; I am going to surprise you. Your cousin wants to get married."

      "Get married! George wants to get married!"

      "Exactly so; and now I have a further surprise in store for you—he wants to marry your daughter Angela."

      This time Philip said nothing, but he started in evident and uncomfortable astonishment. If Lady Bellamy wished to surprise him, she had certainly succeeded.

      "Surely you are joking!" he said.

      "I never was further from joking in my life; he is desperately in love with her, and wild to marry her."

      "Well?"

      "Well, don't you now see a way to force your cousin to sell the lands?"

      "At the price of Angela's hand?"

      "Precisely."

      Philip walked up and down the room in thought. Though, as the reader may remember, he had himself, but a month before, been base enough to suggest that his daughter should use her eyes to forward his projects, he had never, in justice to him be it said, dreamt of forcing her into a marriage in every way little less than unnatural. His idea of responsibility towards his daughter was, as regards sins of omission, extremely lax, but there were some of commission that he did not care to face. Certain fears and memories oppressed him too much to allow of it.

      "Lady Bellamy," he said, presently, "you have known my cousin George intimately for many years, and are probably sufficiently acquainted with his habits of life to know that such a marriage would be an infamy."

      "Many a man who has been wild in his youth makes a good husband," she answered, quietly.

      "The more I think of it," went on Philip, excitedly, after the fashion of one who would lash himself into a passion, "the more I see the utter impossibility of any such thing, and I must say that I wonder at your having undertaken such an errand. On the one hand, there is a young girl who, though I do not, from force of circumstances, see much of myself, is, I believe, as good as she is handsome——"

      "And on the other," broke in Lady Bellamy, ironically, "are the

       Isleworth estates."

      "And on the other," went on Philip, without paying heed to her remark —"I am going to speak plainly, Lady Bellamy—is a man utterly devoid of the foundations of moral character, whose appearance is certainly against him, who I have got reason to know is not to be trusted, and who is old enough to be her father, and her cousin to boot—and you ask me to forward such a marriage as this! I will have nothing to do with it; my responsibilities as a father forbid it. It would be the wickedest thing I have