constantly increasing stream of bitter words.

"You--you love him," he cried. "You--my daughter! You have been--a
traitor--to me! You have dared--dared--deny that which my whole life
has affirmed! My own flesh and blood--when I thought the nearest
_mètis_ of them all more loyal! You love this man--this man who has
insulted me, mocked me! You have taken his part against me! You have
deliberately placed yourself in the class of those I would hang for
such an offence! If you were not my daughter I would hang you. Hang my
own child!" Suddenly his rage flared. "You little fool! Do you dare
set your judgment against mine? Do you dare interfere where I think
well? Do you dare deny my will? By the eternal, I'll show you, old as
you are, that you have still a father! Get to your room! Out of my
sight!" He took two steps forward, and so his eye fell on Ned Trent.
He uttered a scream of rage, and reached for the pistol. Fortunately
the abruptness of his movement when he arose had knocked it to the
floor, so now in the blindness of a red anger he could not see it. He
shrieked out an epithet and jumped forward, his arm drawn to strike.
Ned Trent leaped back into an attitude of defence.

All three of those present had many times seen Galen Albret possessed
by his noted fits of anger, so striking in contrast to his ordinary
contained passivity. But always, though evidently in a white heat of
rage and given to violent action and decision, he had retained the
clearest command of his faculties, issuing coherent and dreaded
orders to those about him. Now he had become a raging wild beast. And
for the spectators the sight had all the horror of the unprecedented.

But the younger man, too, had gradually heated to the point where his
ordinary careless indifference could give off sparks. The interview