And Carry, actually majestic in her indignation and contempt, swept from the room. None of the other actors in the drama had spoken—to them all it had been a surprise; and they were all, but most of all the invalid boy, astounded at this burst of really grand passion on the part of the ordinarily quiet and gentle woman. Fred Bingham seemed to writhe under the girl’s words. His face was ashen pale, his natty figure almost trembled; in vain he tried to speak, the words faded on his lips, the room seemed to swim around him, as he felt the utter extinction of his plans and schemes. When Carry had left the room he endeavoured to rally, and would have spoken, but Captain Bradshaw interrupted him. “Go, Fred Bingham; attempt no excuses, we know all, even to the fact of your tampering with my servants and sending back Frank’s letter. And now let me give you one piece of advice. Frank and his wife are here—yes, back in their proper places. Frank is at this moment out, but he may return at any moment. If you value a whole skin, I should say go before he does return; and one last word,” and here the old man strode forward, “if I ever catch you in my house again, damme, if I don’t have you whipped out by the maids.” Without a single word Fred Bingham staggered out of the room, felt his way, rather than walked, down-stairs, and, mechanically putting his hat upon his head, went through the open door which James, with mock civility, held wide open for him. As he was going down the steps, however, a gentleman, walking rapidly, turned up them. He stopped, and, with almost a cry of exultation, exclaimed,— “Fred Bingham!” Then he went on with an unnatural coolness which was more deadly than the fiercest outburst of fury would have been. “So, Fred, we have met again at last. The time for wiping out a little of our score has arrived. No,” he said, as Fred shrank back, “I will not touch you with my hands. Had we met in another place, I would not have answered for you. I will punish you as I would punish a dog. James,” he said, grasping his enemy by the collar with a force from which he would have been powerless to escape had he had ten times his natural strength, “fetch me that riding-whip which I bought yesterday, out of the hall, and tell my wife to come here.” Fred Bingham had recovered now from the shock he had suffered. Physically, he was not a coward, and he faced his powerful opponent with the courage of despair. For a moment, he made a tremendous effort to escape; but Frank held him without moving a muscle, as if even unconscious of his struggles. “You shall repent this outrage,” Fred Bingham hissed between his teeth. Frank Maynard only smiled, he smiled again when the servant brought him out the heavy riding-whip, which he grasped with his right hand. Then he waited immoveable. A light rapid step was heard in the hall, and Kate stood at the door.