Trying to stop her ears to the sounds, she crept back from the window, and bent over May, who seemed to be sleeping more easily; and a feeling of hope began to lighten the darkness in her heart, and the black shadow of dread that so oppressed her was forgotten, till, all at once, it came back, blacker, more impenetrable than ever, as the sound of voices loud in altercation rose from below. Claire's heart stood still, and she held on by a chair-back, listening with her lips apart, and wondering whether this was the bolt fallen at last--the blow she was always dreading, and that she felt must one day come. She crept to the door, passed out and listened, closing it after her that the noise might not awaken May, to whom sleep meant life. Angry voices rose, and then there were the sounds of blows struck apparently with a cane. Then there was a scuffling noise, and the front door was driven back. "Leave the house, scoundrel! leave my house, insolent dog!" came up sharp and clear in her father's voice, quivering with anger, and the scuffle was renewed. "You pay me my wages; you pay me what you owe me, or I don't stir a step." The voice that uttered these last words was thick and husky, and full of menace. It was a familiar voice, though, that Claire recognised, and her cheeks burned with shame as she felt that passers-by, perhaps Richard Linnell, would hear the degrading words that were uttered. Her sister lying there sick, and this pitiful disturbance that was increasing in loudness, and must be heard by any one who happened to be upon the Parade! She hurried down to find that the scuffling sounds had been renewed, and as she reached the passage it was to find that her father was trying to drag Isaac to the door, and force him into the road, where quite a little crowd was collecting. "Leave this house, sir, directly." "I shan't for you," cried Isaac, resisting stoutly. "I want my wages. I want my box." "Leave this house, you drunken insolent scoundrel!" "Father! for pity's sake," cried Claire, trying to interfere. "No, no; stand back, my child," cried the old man angrily. "He has come back again to-night tipsy. He has insulted me once more, and he shall not stay here--I can turn him out, and I will." "Not you, and I shan't go," hiccupped Isaac, seizing the plinth at the bottom of the balusters and holding on. "I don't go from here 'thout my money--every penny of it, so now, old Denville." "Pray, pray let me pass, father, and shut the door," cried Claire. "No, my dear," said the old man, whose blood was now up. "He shall leave this house at once." "No, I shan't leave neither without my box." The struggle went on, and the lamp would have been knocked off the bracket but for Claire's hand. The contending parties swayed here and there, but it was evident that the footman was far the stronger, while Denville's forces were failing moment by moment.