DEFIANCE
For some moments Henshaw did not speak; indeed, it was probable that the
unexpected success of his search for Edith Morriston--for such doubtless
was his object--had so disagreeably startled him, that he was unable to
pull those sharp wits of his together at once. But the expression which
flashed into his eyes, and that came instantaneously, was of so vengeful
and threatening a character, that Gifford felt glad he was there to
protect the girl from her now enraged persecutor.
"I did not expect to find you here, Miss Morriston."
The words came sharply and wrathfully, when the man had found his
glib tongue.
Gifford answered. "Miss Morriston and I have been enjoying the view and
the air of the pines."
The commonplace remark naturally, as it was intended, went for nothing.
Henshaw affected not to notice it.
"I am glad I have come across you, Miss Morriston," he said, with an
evident curbing of his chagrin, "as I have something rather important to
say to you."
"I am afraid I cannot hear it now, Mr. Henshaw," the girl returned
coldly.
Henshaw's face darkened. "I really must ask you to grant me an interview
without delay," he retorted insistently, as though secure in his sense of
power over the girl. "I am sure Mr. Gifford will permit--"
"Mr. Gifford will do nothing of the sort," came the bold and rather
startling reply from the person alluded to. "As a friend of Miss
Morriston's I do not intend to allow you to hold any more private
conversations with her."
No doubt with his knowledge of the world and of his own advantage Henshaw
put down Gifford's resolute speech to mere bluff. And Gervase Henshaw was
too old a legal practitioner to be bluffed. "I do not for a moment admit
your right to interfere," he retorted with an assumption of calm
superiority. "I am addressing myself to Miss Morriston, who does not, I
hope, approve of your somewhat singular manners."
Gifford took a step out of the summerhouse and sternly faced Henshaw. "I
am sure Miss Morriston will endorse anything I choose to say to a man who
has constituted himself her cowardly persecutor," he said. "Now we don't
want to have a dispute in a lady's presence," he added as Henshaw began
an angry rejoinder. "You have got, unless you wish very unpleasant
consequences to follow, to render an account to me, as Miss Morriston's
friend, of your abominable conduct towards her. But not here. You had
better come to my room at the hotel at three o'clock this afternoon and
hear what I shall have to say. And in the meantime you will address Miss
Morriston only at the risk of a horsewhipping."
Henshaw was looking at him steadfastly through eyes that blazed with
hate. "I wonder if you quite know whom and what you are trying to
champion," he snarled.
"Perfectly," was the cool reply. "A much wronged and cruelly persecuted
lady. You had better postpone what you have to say till this afternoon,
when we will come to an understanding as to your conduct. Now, as you are
on private land, you had better take the nearest way to the public road."
Henshaw looked as though he would have liked to bring the dispute to the
issue of a physical encounter, had but the coward in him dared. "I am
here by permission," he returned, standing his ground.
"Which has been rescinded by the vile use to which you have chosen to put
it," Gifford rejoined. "I have Miss Morriston's authority to treat you as
a trespasser, and to order you off her brother's land."
Henshaw fell back a step. "Very well, Mr. Gifford," he returned with an
ugly sneer. "You talk with great confidence now, but we shall see. You
will be wiser by this time tomorrow."
With that he turned and walked off; Gifford, after watching him for a
while, went back to the summer-house.
"I have put things in the right train there," he remarked with a
confident laugh. "I hope to be able to tell you this evening that Mr.
Henshaw is a thing of the past."
"You are very sanguine," she said, a little doubtfully. "I am afraid you
do not know the man."
"I'm afraid I do," he replied. "He is obviously not an easy person to
deal with. But I think I see my way. Tell me. He has threatened you in
order to induce you to elope with him?"
"Yes. He has found evidence among his brother's correspondence of the
hold he had over me and of his persecution. That would afford a
sufficient motive for my killing him; and how could I prove that I did
not strike the blow?"
"It might be difficult," Gifford answered thoughtfully. "But I may be
able to do it. Of course he knows you to be an heiress."
"I am sure of that from something he once let slip. It has been my
inheritance which has brought all this trouble upon me, at any rate its
persistency."
"Yes. This man must be something of an adventurer, as his brother was. We
shall see," Gifford said with a grim touch. "Now, I must not keep you
any longer. I am so grateful for the confidence you have given me. May I
call later on and tell you the result?"
Her eyes were on him in an almost piteous searching for hope in his
resolute face. "Of course," she responded. "I shall be so terribly
anxious to know."
Chivalrously avoiding any suggestion of tenderness, he shook hands and
went off towards the town.