"You go there oftentimes to find me, but, somehow, always when I am out, and Julian is at home. When I am not there, do you return here, or go elsewhere? Nay, you console yourself for my absence by her society--bringing her into ill-repute in the county." "You lie!" shouted Anthony. "I do not lie," retorted Fox. "Did you not remain with her to-day. Where else have you been? Who drew your initials on the glass beside hers, and bound them together with a true lover's knot?" Anthony's head fell. He had planted himself on the hearthstone, with his back to the fireplace--now without burning logs or peat in it. The flush that had been driven by anger to his face deepened with shame to a dark crimson. Fox observed him out of his small keen eyes. "Tell me this," he pursued. "Was it not indiscreet that thy father should come in and find thee and Julian locked in each other's arms, exchanging lovers' kisses?" Anthony looked suddenly up, and in a moment all the blood left his face and rushed to his heart. He saw behind the chair in which sat Fox, the form of his wife. Urith--grey as a corpse, but with fire spirting from her eyes, and her nostrils and lips quivering. Her hand was lifted, clenched, on something, he could not see what. "Tell me," repeated Fox, slowly rising, and putting his hand to his belt. "Tell me--can you deny that?--can you say that it is a lie? Your own father told me what he had seen. Did he lie?" Anthony did not hear him, did not see him; his eyes were fixed in sorrow, shame, despair, on Urith. Oh, that she should hear this, and that he should be unable to answer! "Strike--kill him!" her voice was hoarse--like that of a man; and she dashed the gloves, torn to shreds by her teeth, against his breast. Instantly, Fox's arm was raised, the knife flashed in the candle-light, and fell on him, struck him where he had been touched by the gloves. "That," the words attended the blows, "that for Urith." Anthony dropped on the hearthstone. Then, as Fox raised his arm once more--without a cry, without a word, Urith sprang before him, thrust him back with all her force, that he reeled to the table, and only saved himself from a fall by catching at it, and she sank consciousless on the hearthstone beside Anthony. CHAPTER XLII. ON THE BRIDGE. Fox soon recovered himself, and seeing Anthony moving and rising on one hand, he came up to him again and thrust him back, and once more stooping over him, raised the knife. "One for Urith," he said, "one for myself, and then one for Julian." Before he could strike he was caught by the neck and dragged away. Luke Cleverdon was in the hall; he had entered unobserved. Fox stood leaning against the table, hiding his weapon behind him, looking at Luke with angry yet alarmed eyes. "Go," said Luke, waving his left hand. "I have not the strength to detain you, nor are there sufficient here to assist me were I to summon aid. Go!"