“Stand aside, and let me pass,” again exclaimed Frank Amberley, finding himself thus released.
“Seize him! Don’t let him go!” faintly cried one or two in the rear of the group in the doorway.
“Attend to your mistress, and leave my way free,” cried Frank Amberley, still holding the deadly weapon leveled menacingly. He was as ignorant as any one there whether the second chamber was loaded or not, but that signified little, as he had not the most remote intention of hurting as much as a fly.
With a quick, threatening step and determined air, he strode toward the door.
Some of the domestics fled precipitately up-stairs, others crawled back by another door leading into the two drawing-rooms. A whispered buzz ran round, but no one raised a hand to stay the supposed assailant of the mistress of the house.
Pistol in hand, he walked between the two startled groups, steadily, with perfect sang-froid. At the top of the stairs he turned, and went down step by step, backward, lest he should be surprised and overpowered. No one stirred, however, though some of the women peered over the balustrade. One of the housemaids ran and raised Madam Guiscardini, who still remained in her convenient swoon, while the other flew to get some water from a side table.
Arrived in the hall, Frank Amberley opened the door, laid the pistol on the hall table, and went out.
“Thank Heaven, so far!” he exclaimed, aloud, as he found himself at liberty in the open air.
He marveled how they had let him depart, and expected to see them rushing after him, hallooing at the top of their voices.
A few rapid strides brought him to the corner. He had it in his heart to take to his heels, but did not yield to the temptation. His pulses were throbbing painfully, and he knew that much was yet to come, but he contrived to maintain his composure.