"You said he was dead just now. Chuck some cold water over the idiot, and bring him to. Damn him! I should like to horsewhip him!" "You should have done it often, years ago," said Garstang, bitterly. "It is too late now." "You mind your own business," shouted Wilton, turning upon him; "I can't talk like you do, but I can say what I mean, and it's this: I'm master here yet, and I'll stand no more of it. I don't care for your deeds and documents. I won't have you here to insult me and my wife, and what's more, if you've done that boy a mischief we'll see what the law can do. You shall suffer as well as I. Now then: off with you; pack and go, and I'll show you that the law protects me as well as you. Kate, my girl, you've nothing to be frightened about. Come to me here." She clung the more tightly to her protector. "Then come to your aunt," said Wilton, fiercely. "Get up, Maria," he shouted. "Can't you see I want you here?" "Get up? Oh, James, James, I can't leave my boy." "Get up, before you put me in a rage," he yelled. "Now, then, Kate, come here; and I tell you this, John Garstang. I give you a quarter of an hour, and if you're not gone then, the men shall throw you out." "What!" cried Garstang, sternly, as he drew himself up. "Go and leave this poor girl here to your tender mercies?" "Yes, sir; go and leave `this poor girl,' as you call her, to my tender mercies." "I can not; I will not," said Garstang, firmly. "But I say you shall, Mr Lawyer. You know enough of such things to feel that you must. Curse you and your interference. Kate, my dear, I am your poor dead father's executor, and your guardian." "Yes, it is true," said Garstang, bitterly. "Poor fellow, it was the one mistake of a good, true life. He had faith in his brother." "More than he had in you," cried Wilton. "Do you hear what I say, Kate? Don't visit upon your aunt and me the stupid folly of that boy, whose sin is that he is very fond of you, and frightened you by a bit of loving play." "Loving play!" cried Garstang, scornfully. "Yes, my dear, loving play. I vouch for it, and so will his mother." "Yes, yes, yes, Kate, dear. He does love you. He told me so, and if he did wrong, poor, poor boy, see how he has been punished." "There, my dear, you hear," cried Wilton, trying hard to speak gently and winningly to her, but failing dismally. "Come to your aunt now." "Yes, Kate, darling, do, do please, and help me to try and bring him round. You don't want to see him lie a corpse at his sorrowing mother's feet?" "Come here, Kate," cried Wilton, fiercely now. "Don't you make me angry. I am your guardian, and you must obey me. Come away from that man." She shuddered, and began to sob now violently. "Ah, that's better. You're coming to your senses now, and seeing things in their proper light. Now, John Garstang, you heard what I said--go."