“Is it worth while discussing imaginary things—­possibilities only?” he said, carelessly.

“Because, you see,” continued Brand, who was not to be driven from his point, “any plain and ordinary person, looking from the outside at the whole affair, might imagine that you had been merely temporizing with me, neither giving nor refusing your consent, until I had handed over this money; and that, as you had never intended to let your daughter marry, that was the reason why you did not care whether I retained a penny of my own property or not.”

Lind did not flinch for an instant; nor was there the slightest trace of surprise, or annoyance, or resentment in his look.  He rose and pushed back his chair.

“Suppose we let outsiders think what they please, Mr. Brand,” said he, with absolute composure.  “We have more serious matters to attend to.”

Brand rose also.  He guessed what was coming, and he had nerved himself to face it.  The whole course of this man’s action was now as clear to him as noonday.

“I have been considering further the suggestion I mentioned to you the other day, that you should go over to some of the big American cities,” said Mr. Lind, almost with an indifferent air as he turned over some papers.  “We are strong there; you will find plenty of friends; but what is wanted is cohesion, arrangement, co-operation.  Now you say yourself this Mr. Molyneux would be an admirable successor to you in the North?”

“None better,” said Brand.  This sentence of banishment had been foreseen; he knew how to encounter it when it came.

“I think, on the whole, it would be advisable then.  When could you go?”

“I could start to-night,” he said.  But then, despite himself, a blush of embarrassment mounted to his forehead, and he added quickly, “No; not to-night.  The day after to-morrow.”

“There is no need for any such great hurry,” said Mr. Lind, with his complaisant smile.  “You will want much direction, many letters.  Come, shall we join your friend in the other room?”

The two men, apparently on the best of terms, went back to Molyneux, and the talk became general.  George Brand, as he sat there, kept his right hand shut tight, that so he could press the ring that Natalie had given him; and when he thought of America, it was almost with a sense of relief.  She would approve; he would not betray his promise to her But if only that one moment were over in which he should have to bid her farewell!

CHAPTER XXIX.

A GOOD-NIGHT MESSAGE.

Brand had nerved himself for that interview; he had determined to betray neither surprise nor concern; he was prepared for the worst.  When it was intimated to him that hence-forth his life was to be lived out beyond the seas, he had appeared to take it as a matter of course.  Face to face with his enemy, he would utter no protest.  Then, had he not solemnly promised to Natalie that nothing in the world should tempt him from his allegiance?  Why should he shrink from going to America, or prefer London to Philadelphia?  He had entered into a service that took no heed of such things.