“To defend my honor!” cried the distracted man, lost to all sense of propriety or decorum, “or to add my blood to the other crimes that disgrace him.”
“In the name of all that’s astounding, what do you mean, Thorpe?” exclaimed Corway.
“I mean that I intend to avenge the irreparable wrong I have suffered,” replied Mr. Thorpe, fairly hissing the words from between his teeth.
“Irreparable wrong! To whom do you refer?”
“To you, scoundrel! Tell how you came by that ring!”
Mr. Harris had listened to the two men with ill-concealed impatience, but when Mr. Thorpe called Mr. Corway, one of his guests, a scoundrel, and dangerous business appearing imminent, he could control his indignation no longer and shouted, “Mr. Thorpe’s carriage immediately! Here, Sam, your assistance. Wells, get some more help to maintain order.”
The words had scarcely been uttered, when Sam, who had appeared with Virginia on the piazza, sprang down the steps to his uncle’s assistance. They were quickly joined by the coachman and gardener who, having chanced to meet in a nearby secluded angle of the porch, had heard the loud, passionate words and were at once available for duty.
“Hold, Mr. Harris!” spoke up Corway, who seemed to be less disturbed than either Thorpe or his host, “don’t be hasty in this matter! Mr. Thorpe is certainly laboring under some delusion.”
“I will not listen to you,” replied Mr. Harris, now worked up to a fury. “Mr. Thorpe’s conduct is outrageous. Away with him to his carriage.”
“I guess so!” responded Sam, pulling off his coat and looking at his uncle sideways, “stampede the corral, eh, uncle? That’s what you want!”