looked at me so steadily. Not a tremor, not a shake, as I live. Calm,
Sir; cool as steel, and hard too. She looked away, and then looked
back. They were searching glances, too, as though they read me through
and through. Well, there was no occasion for that. She ought to know
Scone Dacres well enough, I swear. Cool! And there stood I, with the
blood flashing to my head, and throbbing fire underneath the scar of
her wound--hers--her own property, for she made it! That was the woman
that kicked me, that struck at me, that caused the destruction of my
ancestral house, that drove me to exile, and that now drives me back
from my love. But, by Heaven! it'll take more than her to do it; and
I'll show her again, as I showed her once before, that Scone Dacres is
her master. And, by Jove! she'll find that it'll take more than
herself to keep me away from Minnie Fay."

"See here, old boy," said Hawbury, "you may as well throw up the
sponge."

"I won't," said Dacres, gruffly.

"You see it isn't your wife that you have to consider, but the girl;
and do you think the girl or her friends would have a married man
paying his attentions in that quarter? Would you have the face to do
it under your own wife's eye? By Jove!"

The undeniable truth of this assertion was felt by Dacres even in his
rage. But the very fact that it was unanswerable, and that he was
helpless, only served to deepen and intensify his rage. Yet he said
nothing; it was only in his face and manner that his rage was
manifested. He appeared almost to suffocate under the rush of fierce,
contending passions; big distended veins swelled out in his forehead,