"I will save you from a life of abomination--in other words I will save you from him; he shall not get you. I have sworn it; you did notknow that when you were lying down on the beach--you had ceased speaking, and in the silence my life seemed stirred to its very essence; and I knew that I must struggle against him, and conquer. I want to know this: Have you ever thought of what your life would be with him? Have you ever thought what he is?"

"But you don't know him, Frank. You have never spoken to him. I am sure you misjudge him."

"Do you think I cannot see what he is? He is one of those men whose one ambition is to make themselves friendly in a house where there are women to wheedle. If the wife is young he will strive to wheedle her, and though he may not succeed he must degrade her. Or, if she have daughters, he will never cease to appeal to, to work upon, to excite latent feelings which, had it not been for him, would never have been developed into base and abnormal desire. I know what the foul-minded beast is. Such men as he ought to be killed; we don't want them in our society. I want to save you, I want to give you a n.o.ble, a pure life, full of the charms of a husband's influence, a home where there would be love of natural things. You are capable of all this, Maggie, your nature is a pure one, but your life is unwholesome and devoid of purity."

"Frank, how can you speak so? You have no right to say such things about us. I am sure you have always been well treated--"

"You do not understand me, I will explain what I mean. Your life is rich and luxurious, but you are not happy, no one is happy in idleness; above all no woman is happy without love. A woman's mission in life is to love, she must have her home, her husband, and her children. These are the things that make a woman happy; and these are the things I want to give you--that I will give you; for, listen to me, I swear you shall not have that adventurer. He would degrade you with pleasure at first, and afterwards with neglect. You are too good for this, Maggie--it must not be, it shall not be. As I said before, death would be better." They stood in front of the ca.n.a.l locks and Maggie looked with a beating heart on the deep water that a ray from a crescent moon faintly indicated. "A woman is helpless until she finds her lord, he who shall save, the saviour who shall bring her home safe to the fold. He exists! and all are in danger till they find him. Some miss him--they wander into misery and ruin; those that find him are led to happiness and content. I am yours. I would tell you how I became convinced that I am the one appointed by G.o.d to lead you to Him."

"I thought you didn't believe in G.o.d."

"Not as we have been taught to understand Him but I believe in a presiding power--call it luck, fate, or destiny that--that exists and wills; that is to say, watches over--rules out that this man is for that woman, and ordains that he shall protect her from danger, shall save her from those that seek her destruction. Much has happened to prove that I was intended for you. We have known each other since we were children. Do you not remember when I kissed you in the verandah as I was going to school? I was the first man who kissed you; you were the first woman who kissed me--have you never felt that we were for each other? Nor can I forget that when I thought we had drifted for ever apart, that I was brought back. Do you think it was accident-- blind chance? I don't. Now I see this man striving to win you, and whether it be for your money, whether it be for yourself, or for both, it is my duty to say: No, this must not be."

"I think you are mistaken about Charlie. I admit that a man is often a better judge than a girl; and as for you, Frank, I am sure I am very fond of you. It is very good of you to take such interest in me--but we must get home. I don't know what father will think."

"No, before you go a step further you must promise me not to see that man again. I cannot tell you how, but I know no good can come of it.

He is one of those creatures who cannot love, and only care for women for the excitement they afford. I know what sort of brute he is. It is more depraving to walk alone with him, than to be the mistress of a man who loved you."

"He is leaving Brighton in a few days."

"So much the better for all of us. But you must promise me. I would sooner see you lying drowned in that lock than his wife."

Maggie trembled. It was ridiculous to think of such a thing. Surely he did not mean to drown her if she refused to promise. Charlie was going to London in a few days; he would be away for three or four months.

Heaven only knows what would happen in that time. She didn't see what right Frank had to bully her--to extort promises from her by night on the edge of a dangerous lock. But a promise wasn't much, and a promise given in such circ.u.mstances was not a promise at all.

"If you are really in earnest--if you think it is for my good, I'll promise you not to see him again."

"O Maggie, if you only knew what a load of trouble you have taken off my mind! Thank you--give me your hand, and let me thank you. I know I am right. And now, tell me, can you love me? Will you marry me?"

"I will promise nothing more to-night; we shall see how you behave yourself," the girl replied winningly. "And now go on, sir, we have been here quite long enough."

He crossed the gate mechanically, she followed eagerly, and when she reached the other side her heart beat with pride at her pretty triumph. Now I'll twit him, she thought, as they ascended the sh.o.r.e and entered the town.

"I wonder why you think Charlie so wicked; I think if you knew him you would change your opinion."

"I am very thankful indeed that I do not know him."

The conversation dropped, but a moment after he gave her the chance she wanted.

"Mind you have promised me not to see him again. I trust you."

"But suppose he calls and if I should be in the drawing-room, I cannot walk out of the room without speaking to him."

"I think you had better write and say you do not wish to see him."

"I couldn't do that; we have known him a long time, and father has always said that we must be rude to no one. Besides, what reason could I give?"

"You need not give a reason. But let that pa.s.s. I can't see why you should meet; you can surely tell your servant to say 'Not at home,'

when he calls."

"I might be in the garden--Sally would not allow it. If John said 'Not at home,' she would run down and let him in."

"I see you are raising difficulties--I see you do not intend to keep your promise."

"You have been quite rude enough for one evening. You have kept me out on the beach by force till nearly ten o'clock at night, and you said that my life at the Manor House was not a pure one--I don't know what you mean. No man ever spoke to me like that before."

"You misunderstood me. If you knew how I loved you, you would not twit me with my own words. Heaven knows I would sooner go back and drown myself in the lock than do anything or say anything that would offend you. Remember also that I asked you to be my wife."

"You are not the first. I daresay it may appear strange to you, but others have asked me the same question before."

"It does not seem strange to me, it only seems strange to me that every one doesn't love you, but I daresay they do. O Maggie, remember that you gave me hope, you said that you might--"

"Did I? Well, it's too late to talk any more. Goodnight. I suppose you're not coming in?"

She left him in a cruel dispersal of hope. He avoided, and then he tenderly solicited a regret that he had not thrown her into the lock.

To end on that hour by the sea would have been better than the trivial and wretched conclusion of a broken promise, and everything, even murder, were better than that a brute should have her woman's innocence to sully and destroy. His love of the woman disappeared in his desire to save, the idea which she represented at that moment; and lost in sentiment he stood watching the white sickle of the moon over against the dim village. The leaves of some pollarded willows whitened when the breeze shot them up to the light, and a moment after became quite distinct in the glare and the steam of an approaching engine. He might go and tell w.i.l.l.y all about it; he would ask him to interfere- could he catch that train? If he ran for it, yes. He ran full tilt across the green under the archway up the high stone steps. He just did it.

It was the last train; he would sleep in Brighton. His plan, so far as he had a definite plan, was to ask w.i.l.l.y to come with him and tell "that brute" that his visits to the Manor House must end, and request him to pay his sister no further attentions. His other plans were-- w.i.l.l.y must speak to Maggie and tell her all he knew of the man; w.i.l.l.y must speak to his father; Mr. Brookes must not be kept in ignorance.

But of course the right thing to do would be for w.i.l.l.y and him to call at the brute's hotel, tell him what they thought, and give him a licking. The train jogged on, and Frank made plan after plan. It was now past eleven, and he would not be at East Street before twelve o'clock. As he hurried along the streets he doubted more than ever how w.i.l.l.y would receive him. He might just as well have waited till morning. However, it was too late now to think of going back, there was no train, and he rapped at first timidly and then noisily at the shop door. He had to wait some time, and then he heard a voice asking from the top windows who was there.

"'Tis I, Frank; awfully sorry, but must see you--particular business."

There was no answer; he heard the voice grumbling, and more than ever doubtful of the cordiality of his reception, he listened. The door opened.

"Who is it?" he said.

"'Tis I, Cissy; but I'm in my nightdress."

"I won't look at you, Cissy, if that's what you mean. But won't yougive me a kiss?"

"Stoop down, then."

"I am sorry for waking you up, Cissy."

"Never mind, I'd get up at any hour to see you."

"There, run upstairs, and take care you don't catch cold, or I shall never hear the end of it."

"Father is in bed with mother. He says you are to go up, for if he were to get out of bed it might give him cold. You know his room?"

"Yes, here it is, now run along."

"Come in."

Frank was a little shocked, and he waited stupidly on the threshold.

He could see a fragment of Mrs. Brookes's profile, and beneath the clothes the outline of w.i.l.l.y's bony body.

"Come in, come in," he said, "don't stand there filling the room with cold air. Now, what is it? Why the deuce do you come here waking us up at this unG.o.dly hour? What has happened?"