And the young Man, driven to bay, facing half a dozen pairs of eyes that held both Contempt and Enmity in their glance, reiterated hoarsely:
"I have sworn to You that I do not know." Then he added: "Hath Loyalty then left this unfortunate Land, that You can all believe such a vile thing of me?"
And in the silence that ensued, Mr. Betterton's perfectly modulated Voice was again raised in quietly sarcastic accents:
"As You say, my Lord," he remarked. "Loyalty hath left this unfortunate Country. Perhaps," he added with a light shrug of the shoulders, "to take Refuge with your glorious Ancestry."
This last Gibe, however, brought my Lord Stour's exasperation to a raging Fury. Pushing unceremoniously past His Grace of Albemarle, who stood before him, he took a step forward and confronted Mr. Betterton eye to eye and, drawing himself up to his full Height, he literally glowered down upon the great Artist, who stood his Ground, placid and unmoved.
"Insolent Varlet!" came in raucous tones from the young Lord's quivering lips. "If you had a spark of chivalry or of honour in You——"
At the arrogant Insult every one drew their breath. A keen Excitement flashed in every eye. Here was at last a Quarrel, one that must end in bloodshed. Just what was required—so thought these young Rakes, I feel sure—to clear the Atmosphere and to bring abstruse questions of Suspicion and of Honour to a level which they could all of them understand. Only the Duke of Albemarle, who, like a true and great Soldier, hath the greatest possible Abhorrence for the gentlemanly Pastime of Duelling, tried to interpose. But Mr. Betterton, having provoked the Quarrel, required no interference from any one. You know his way, dear Mistress, as well as I do—that quiet Attitude which he is wont to assume, that fraction of a second's absolute Silence just before he begins to speak. I know of no Elocutionist's trick more telling than that. It seems to rivet the Attention, and at the same time to key up Excitement and Curiosity to its greatest strain.
"By your leave, my Lord," he said slowly, and his splendid Voice rose just to a sufficient pitch of Loudness to be distinctly heard by those immediately near him, but not one yard beyond. "By your leave, let us leave the word 'honour' out of our talk. It hath become ridiculous and obsolete, now that every Traitor doth use it for his own ends."
But in truth my Lord Stour now was beside himself with Fury.
"By gad!" he exclaimed with a harsh laugh. "I might have guessed that it was your pestilential Tongue which stirred up this Treason against me. Liar!—Scoundrel!——"