"Or do you wish to quarrel with me? I give you your choice, Miss
Vandeleur."
There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.
"Take that man by the heels," he said. "I must have him brought
into the house. If I were a little younger, I could help myself
against the world. But now that years and dangers are upon me and
my hands are weakened, I must turn to you for aid."
"It is a crime," replied the girl.
"I am your father," said Mr. Vandeleur.
This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling noise
followed upon the gravel, a chair was overset, and then Francis saw
the father and daughter stagger across the walk and disappear under
the verandah, bearing the inanimate body of Mr. Rolles embraced
about the knees and shoulders. The young clergyman was limp and
pallid, and his head rolled upon his shoulders at every step.
Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator's
declaration, inclined to the latter view. A great crime had been
committed; a great calamity had fallen upon the inhabitants of the
house with the green blinds. To his surprise, Francis found all
horror for the deed swallowed up in sorrow for a girl and an old
man whom he judged to be in the height of peril. A tide of
generous feeling swept into his heart; he, too, would help his
father against man and mankind, against fate and justice; and
casting open the shutters he closed his eyes and threw himself with
out-stretched arms into the foliage of the chestnut.
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