So he stood there whilst the old man's eyes flashed like steel,
and Joan's face, in her silent anger, seemed to grow into the likeness
of her father's.
"Dost hear, nephew Douglas? Take her hands in thine and thank thy God
who has sent thee, a pauper and a youth of ill-parentage, a daughter of
mine for wife."
Then the young man found words, though they sounded to him and to the
others faint and unimpressive.
"Uncle," he said, "there has been no word of this nor any thought of it
between Joan and myself. I am not old enough to marry nor have I the
inclination."
Terrible was the look flashed down upon him from those relentless
eyes-fierce, too, the words of his reply, measured and slow although
they were.
"There is no need for words between thee and Joan. Choose between my
bidding and the outside o' my doors this night and for ever."
Even then he might have won his freedom like a man. But the old dread
was too deeply engrafted. The chains of servitude which he and the
whole neighbourhood wore were too heavy to be thrown lightly aside. So
he held out his hand, and Joan's fingers, passive and cold, lay for a
moment in his. The old man watched without any outward sign of
satisfaction.
"Thou ha' chosen well, nephew Douglas," he said, with marvellous but
quite unconscious irony.
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