it's my duty to tell you; and I've done it."

An ugly twist came into John Grimbal's face. "You've done it; yes. Go
on."

"That's all, brother, and from your manner I don't believe it's entirely
news to you."

"Then get you gone, damned snake in the grass! Get gone, 'fore I lay a
hand on you! You to turn and bite _me!_ Me, that's made you! I see it
all--your blasted sheep's eyes at Chris Blanchard, and her always at
Monks Barton! Don't lie about it," he roared, as Martin raised his hand
to speak; "not a word more will I hear from your traitor's lips. Get out
of my sight, you sneaking hypocrite, and never call me 'brother' no
more, for I'll not own to it!"

"You'll be sorry for this, John."

"And you too. You'll smart all your life long when you think of this
dirty trick played against a brother who never did you no hurt. You to
come between me and the girl that's promised to marry me! And for your
own ends. A manly, brotherly plot, by God!"

"I swear, on my sacred honour, there's no plot against you. I've never
spoken to a soul about this thing, nor has a soul spoken of it to me;
that's the truth."

"Rot you, and your sacred honour too! Go, and take your lies with you,
and keep your own friends henceforth, and never cross my threshold
more--you or your sacred, stinking honour either."