she did love him. She had never told him so, and was now sure that it
was not so. When he had pressed her she could only weep. But in her
weeping she never for a moment yielded. She never uttered a single word
on which he could be enabled to build a hope. Then he had become blacker
and still blacker, fiercer and still fiercer, more and more earnest in
his purpose, till at last he asked her whom it was that she loved--as she
could not love him. He knew well whom it was that he suspected;--and she
knew also. But he had no right to demand any statement from her on that
head. She did not think that the man loved her; nor did she know what to
say or to think of her own feelings. Were he, the other man, to come to
her, she would only bid him go away; but why she should so bid him she
had hardly known. But now this dark frowning captain, with his big
mustache and his military look, and his general aspect of invincible
power, threatened the other man.

"He came to Tretton as my friend," he said, "and by Heaven if he stands
in my way, if he dare to cross between you and me, he shall answer it
with his life!"

The name had not been mentioned; but this had been very terrible to
Florence, and she could only weep.

He went away, refusing to stay to dinner, but said that on the following
afternoon he would again return. In the street of the town he met one of
his creditors, who had discovered his journey to Cheltenham, and had
followed him.

"Oh, Captain Mountjoy, what is all dis that they are talking about in
London?"