“Permission?—permission to visit your father on his sick-bed, perhaps on his death-bed!” repeated Tressilian, impatiently; “and permission from whom?—From the villain, who, under disguise of friendship, abused every duty of hospitality, and stole thee from thy father’s roof!”
“Do him no slander, Tressilian!—He whom thou speakest of wears a sword as sharp as thine—sharper, vain man—for the best deeds thou hast ever done in peace or war, were as unworthy to be named with his, as thy obscure rank to match itself with the sphere he moves in—Leave me! Go, do mine errand to my father, and when he next sends to me, let him choose a more welcome messenger.”
“Amy,” replied Tressilian, calmly, “thou canst not move me by thy reproaches.—Tell me one thing, that I may bear at least one ray of comfort to my aged friend—This rank of his which thou dost boast—dost thou share it with him, Amy?—Does he claim a husband’s right to control thy motions?”
“Stop thy base unmannered tongue!” said the lady; “to no question that derogates from my honour, do I deign an answer.”
“You have said enough in refusing to reply,” answered Tressilian; “and mark me, unhappy as thou art, I am armed with thy father’s full authority to command thy obedience, and I will save thee from the slavery of sin and of sorrow, even despite of thyself, Amy.”
“Menace no violence here!” exclaimed the lady, drawing back from him, and alarmed at the determination expressed in his look and manner;
