“Gentlemen,” he said, “it was I—it was my wife and child whose lives Lady Granby bought by the horrible sacrifice. Till to-night I was ignorant of all this—ignorant that she yet lived. You will not wonder that I am unmanned.”
“But she never mentioned your name, Mr. Murray,” said Sir John.
“Perhaps she did not know. She might have done as much for strangers even; upon the broad earth there does not exist a woman so capable of great sacrifices.”
Butler laughed, and looked meaningly at his host.
“I dare say it was no great sacrifice, after all,” he said. “By Sir John’s account, the Indian was as handsome as a young Apollo——”
“Stop!”
The word flew from Murray’s lips like a hot bolt, his eyes flashed fire.
“Another word against that lady, here or elsewhere, and I will hold you to a sharp account, young man!”
Murray passed around the table as he spoke, laid his hand with a heavy pressure on Butler’s shoulder, and bowing to Sir John, passed from the room and the house. Before either of the gentlemen left behind had recovered from their surprise, the sound of a horse’s hoofs galloping down the hard carriage road warned them of Murray’s abrupt departure from the Hall.
“Well, upon my word, this is high tragedy!” exclaimed Butler, recovering from his stupor of cowardly astonishment. “What the deuce did I say that need have aroused a tempest like that?”