"I have been insulted enough, I think," said he, with a calmness more terrible than wrath. "Even as it is, I shall scarcely be able to requite you, though, be sure, I will do my best. But, with respect to my errand, I am come here to see my nephew, and that I will do." "That you shall not do, Sir Massingberd, so surely as this house is mine." "And who shall prevent me?" exclaimed the baronet, contemptuously measuring his foe from head to foot. "Not I, sir, indeed," returned Mr. Gerard; "but I will see that my servants put you out of doors by force," and as he spoke he laid his hand upon the bell. "Before night, then, I shall send for Marmaduke, and he shall be carried back to Fairburn, which, after all, is his proper home, and be there nursed." "Nursed!" repeated my host, hoarsely. "Nursed by the grave-digger, you mean." Sir Massingberd turned livid and sat down; then, as one who acts in his sleep, he passed his handkerchief once or twice across his forehead. "How dare you speak such things to me?" said he, looking round about him. "To hear you talk, one would think that I had tried to murder the boy." "I <i>know</i> you did," cried Mr. Gerard, solemnly, laying his finger upon the baronet's arm. "If your nephew, Marmaduke, dies, his blood is on your head." "On mine! how on mine? How, in the name of all the devils, could I have hindered the lad's horse from running away with him?" "I will tell you how. You might have suffered Mr. Long to purchase a horse for the boy, as he offered to do, and not have sent to London for a confirmed run-away." "He rode it half a dozen times without any harm," replied Sir Massingberd, sullenly. "Yes, with a curb that would have tamed a wild horse fresh from the lasso. But when you took that curb for the keeper's pony, riding with gun in hand for the first time in your life--and sent your nephew forth upon that devil with a snafflebridle--nay, I have it yonder, sir--don't lie; you calculated that if what you wished should happen all would be laid to chance. A change of bridles is an accident like enough to happen; lads are thrown from horseback every day. See, I track your thoughts like slime. Base ruffian! rise; begone from beneath this roof, false coward--" Sir Massingberd started up like one stung by an adder. "Yes, I say coward! Heavens! that this creature should still feel the touch of shame! Be off, be off; molest not any one within this house, at peril of your life--murderer--murderer!" Without a word, without a glance of reply, Sir Massingberd seized his hat, and hurried from the room. I felt some alarm lest he should make some violent effort to visit Marmaduke; but Mr. Gerard's countenance gave me comfort. He stood quite still, listening with grim satisfaction to the baronet's retreating footsteps.