"I deserve your rebuke, my lord," said Glen; "but there comes a time to every man when he feels that he is in earnest. I am in earnest now." "If, sir, you are in earnest, why did you not make your advances like a gentleman?" "One moment," interposed Montaigne, who had now recovered himself, and stood with a smile upon his lip; "Lord Henry, I have been protector, tutor to these ladies from their childhood: I wish to say a few words to Captain Glen." Lord Henry bowed. "Ruth, my child," continued Montaigne, "leave Captain Glen for a few minutes." She shrank from him with such a look of revulsion that the rage in his breast flamed up again, and his craftiness for the moment failed. "Now, sir," said Glen sternly, and he looked menacingly at the man whom he blamed for the frustration of that night's plans. "You have cleverly hoodwinked the poor old fool amongst you," whispered Montaigne, "but you have not blinded me. I have a prior claim to Miss Allerton's hand, and I tell you this," he cried, his rage making him tremble, "that after this night, if you so much as approach her again, I'll expose Marie to her husband--I'll tell him all." Glen glanced at Marie, who was talking in a low voice to Lord Henry, while, suffering now from the reaction, Ruth had sunk into a chair, trembling at what she had dared to do. "You understand," continued Montaigne, upon whose forehead the veins stood out. "That is my price for silence. Ruth is mine, or I drag that woman into the dust." He stood there with his face thrust forward, his hands clenched, and a fiercely vindictive look in his eyes, while Glen seemed to be weighing his position, but he was not. He let his eyes wander from Montaigne to Lord Henry. Then he glanced at Ruth, who for a moment met his gaze with a piteous, appealing glance, before flushing deeply, and drooping in very shame. "Heaven bless her, she is too good for me!" thought Glen; "but before this scoundrel should lay hands upon her--" "You understand me," reiterated Montaigne; "now go." "Understand you!" whispered Glen; and as he spoke he laid one hand sharply on Montaigne's shoulder, clutching him in so fierce a grip that he caused intense pain. "Yes; now understand me." Montaigne glared at him, and he suffered acutely, but he did not wince. "You have uttered your threats: now hear mine. That lady's reputation is in your hands." "Is this all?" said Montaigne defiantly. "No," whispered Glen, placing his lips close to Montaigne's ear; "I have not read your death-sentence: betray us, and I will kill you, so help me God!" The two men were glaring at each other, and by degrees, as Montaigne's face grew of a sickly, leaden hue, his eyelids drooped, and he shrank away. Glen crossed to Ruth and took her hand. "Heaven bless you?" he whispered. "I dare not say more to you now. I am not worthy, Ruth. Would I were a better man! Be kind to her, for she wants your aid."