"Give it to me. Will you--you, who pride yourself upon your high and
delicate sense of honor--will you be such an abject coward as to strike
a defenceless man?"

He yielded her the weapon, and she threw it from the window.

"You may take away my defence, Margaret," said the old man, resolutely,
"but you shall not prevent me from cursing him! A curse be upon him--"

"Hold, sir? Remember that your head is white with the snows of time? It
will not be long before you go to the God who sees you every moment, who
will judge you for every sin you commit."

"You may preach that stuff to the dogs! There is no God! I defy him and
you! Archer Trevlyn, my curse be upon you and yours, now and forever!
Child of a disobedient son! child of a mother who was a harlot!"

Arch sprang upon him with a savage cry. His hand was on his throat--God
knows what crime he would have done, fired by the insult offered to the
memory of his mother, had not Margie caught his hands, and drawn them
away.

"Oh, Archer, Archer Trevlyn!" she cried, imploringly, "grant me this one
favor--the very first I ever asked of you! For my sake, come away. He is
an old man. Leave him to God, and his own conscience. You are young and
strong; you would not disgrace your manhood by laying violent hands on
the weakness of old age!"

"Did you hear what he called my mother, the purest woman the world ever
saw? No man shall repeat that foul slander in my presence, and live!"