against me. Leave him to God."

Cyril had stepped a pace back in his surprise. At first he thought
that Mr. Harvey's trouble had turned his brain; then it flashed
across him that this ruffian's name was indeed John Harvey. The man
was about to rise from the floor when Cyril again sprang forward.

"Drop that sword," he exclaimed, "or I will run you through. Now,
sir," he said to Mr. Harvey, "will you draw out that pistol, whose
butt projects from his pocket, or your son may do one of us mischief
yet?"

That such had been the man's intention was evident from the glance of
baffled rage he threw at Cyril.

"Now, sir, go," his father said sternly. "Remember that, henceforth,
you are no son of mine. Did I do my duty I should hand you over to
the watch--not for your threats to me, but for the sword-thrust you
have given to Joseph Edmonds, who has many times carried you on his
shoulder when a child. You may compass my death, but be assured that
not one farthing will you gain thereby. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord.' I leave it to Him to pay it. Now go."

John Harvey rose to his feet, and walked to the door. Then he turned
and shook his fist at Cyril.

"Curse you!" he said. "I will be even with you yet."

Cyril now had time to look round. His eye fell upon the figure of
Mrs. Harvey, who had fallen insensible. He made a step towards her,