It would be wearisome to relate how I got home, for nothing happened by the way; though I have the keenest recollection of the effort it cost to walk the two miles, which were as long as twenty, my clothing being caked with mire even to my shirt, and my limbs shaking with cold and exhaustion.
But by the usual breakfast hour I had eaten and drunk, washed and changed, and was my own man again. I had need of all my strength, for my father came into the room with suppressed fury in face and voice.
"At last you have condescended to honour me," he began. "Have you come to say you will save Temple from the hammer, or that you choose beggary for yourself and disgrace for your father? Quick: let me know your mind."
"If you mean will I wed a girl I do not love----"
I was answering, when my father burst out--
"Bah! Do not sicken me with play-actor rubbish. Are you going to act like a man of sense and of honour, or like an idiot?"
"I will not offer marriage to Mistress Ryther," I replied.
"Then begone out of the house," he thundered, "and let me never see your fool-face again, and if there is anything in a father's curse, may it cling to you as long as you live."
At this moment, Mr. Butharwick entered the room with a feeble step. He stretched out his hands imploringly to my father, and said in a voice not his own--
"My honoured patron, my friend and benefactor," and something more which was indistinguishable, for his mouth began to work strangely. Then he staggered, and would have fallen but my father caught him in his arms, and laid him on the couch.
I called for help, and servants came hurrying into the room, to whom my father gave order about fetching a surgeon, and this, that, and the other, adding--
"Bid Savage, the attorney, come to me without delay." Then, turning to me, he said: "Will you go, or must I have you thrown out by the servants?"
My dear old tutor's face looked my way, and I thought I saw a beseeching in his eyes, but I could do nothing. I went out, haunted by the drawn face and the wistful eyes, and the face of my father hard as if cut in marble. It was my last sight of both of them.
Luke met me in the hall, and I bade him follow me to my room. He had a letter for me, the first I had received from my love, full of courage and cheer, which just then I sadly needed. Luke told me the doctor was transported with rage on hearing his daughter avow her fixed determination to abide by her promise to me, so that even Martha was terrified by his furious wrath. And my true-hearted love could write to sustain my nagging spirits when she was in such trouble herself! Everybody had been at a loss to understand Vliet, who had tried to soothe the doctor, affecting to think Mistress Goel would be in a more compliant temper by-and-by. I understood him well enough. The scoundrel was confident he had put me out of the way: he should soon know better. It eased my heart a little to write him a few lines, in which I challenged him to meet me in open fight, and declared I would hunt him down like a verminous beast if he was too cowardly to meet me fairly. This I gave to Luke to be delivered into Vliet's hand without loss of time.