For a moment I hesitated, and then walked slowly across the yard and opened the door. “Sir William,” I said, as I did so, “I travelled here with a companion dressed as a man; and I believed him to be what he seemed till this minute.”
“Sir!” said Sir William, with a look of scorn in his face which gave me the lie in my teeth as plainly as any words could do. And then he entered the room. The Pole was standing in one corner, apparently amazed at what was going on, and Smith—I may as well call her Miss Weston at once, for the baronet’s statement was true—was sitting on a sort of divan in the corner of the chamber hiding her face in her hands. She had made no attempt at an escape, and a full explanation was therefore indispensable. For myself I own that I felt ashamed of my part in the play—ashamed even of my own innocency. Had I been less innocent I should certainly have contrived to appear much less guilty. Had it occurred to me on the banks of the Jordan that Smith was a lady, I should not have travelled with her in her gentleman’s habiliments from Jerusalem to Jaffa. Had she consented to remain under my protection, she must have done so without a masquerade.
The uncle stood still and looked at his niece. He probably understood how thoroughly stern and disagreeable was his own face, and considered that he could punish the crime of his relative in no severer way than by looking at her. In this I think he was right. But at last there was a necessity for speaking. “Unfortunate young woman!” he said, and then paused.
“We had better get rid of the landlord,” I said, “before we come to any explanation.” And I motioned to the man to leave the room. This he did very unwillingly, but at last he was gone.
“I fear that it is needless to care on her account who may hear the story of her shame,” said Sir William. I looked at Miss Weston, but she still sat hiding her face. However, if she did not defend herself, it was necessary that I should defend both her and me.
“I do not know how far I may be at liberty to speak with reference to the private matters of yourself or of your—your niece, Sir William Weston. I would not willingly interfere—”
“Sir,” said he, “your interference has already taken place. Will you have the goodness to explain to me what are your intentions with regard to that lady?”
My intentions! Heaven help me! My intentions, of course, were to leave her in her uncle’s hands. Indeed, I could hardly be said to have formed any intention since I had learned that I had been honoured by a lady’s presence. At this moment I deeply regretted that I had thoughtlessly stated to her that I was an unmarried man. In doing so I had had no object. But at that time “Smith” had been quite a stranger to me, and I had not thought it necessary to declare my own private concerns. Since that I had talked so little of myself that the fact of my family at home had not been mentioned. “Will you have the goodness to explain what are your intentions with regard to that lady?” said the baronet.
“Oh, Uncle William!” exclaimed Miss Weston, now at length raising her head from her hands.
“Hold your peace, madam,” said he. “When called upon to speak, you will find your words with difficulty enough. Sir, I am waiting for an answer from you.”
“But, uncle, he is nothing to me;—the gentleman is nothing to me!”
“By the heavens above us, he shall be something, or I will know the reason why! What! he has gone off with you; he has travelled through the country with you, hiding you from your only natural friend; he has been your companion for weeks—”
“Six days, sir,” said I.
“Sir!” said the baronet, again giving me the lie. “And now,” he continued, addressing his niece, “you tell me that he is nothing to you. He shall give me his promise that he will make you his wife at the consulate at Alexandria, or I will destroy him. I know who he is.”
“If you know who I am,” said I, “you must know—”
But he would not listen to me. “And as for you, madam, unless he makes me that promise—” And then he paused in his threat, and, turning round, looked me in the face. I saw that she also was looking at me, though not openly as he did; and some flattering devil that was at work round my heart, would have persuaded that she also would have heard a certain answer given without dismay—would even have received comfort in her agony from such an answer. But the reader knows how completely that answer was out of my power.
“I have not the slightest ground for supposing,” said I, “that the lady would accede to such an arrangement—if it were possible. My acquaintance with her has been altogether confined to—. To tell the truth, I have not been in Miss Weston’s confidence, and have only taken her for that which she has seemed to be.”
“Sir!” said the baronet, again looking at me as though he would wither me on the spot for my falsehood.
“It is true!” said Julia, getting up from her seat, and appealing with clasped hands to her uncle—“as true as Heaven.”
“Madam!” said he, “do you both take me for a fool?”
“That you should take me for one,” said I, “would be very natural. The facts are as we state to you. Miss Weston—as
