His voice dropped. "If you go on like this, you've done for me!"

But she could make no guess at any tragic meaning in his words. "My
father--let me call you so!"

"Will you see that you can't have him?" he stamped the syllables into her
ears: and, with a notion of there being a foreign element about her,
repeated:--"No!--not have him!--not yours!--somebody else's!"

This was clear enough.

"Only you can separate us," said Emilia, with a brow levelled intently.

"Well, and I"--Mr. Pole was pursuing in the gusty energy of his previous
explanation. His eyes met Emilia's, gravely widening. "I--I'm very
sorry," he broke down: "upon my soul, I am!"

The old man went to the mantel-piece and leaned his elbow before the
glass.

Emilia's bosom began to rise again.

She was startled to hear him laugh. A slight melancholy little burst;
and then a louder one, followed by a full-toned laughter that fell short
and showed the heart was not in it.

"That boy Braintop! What fun it was!" he said, looking all the while
into the glass. "Why can't we live in peace, and without bother! Is
your candle alight, my dear?"