“I think, Mr. Lupton,” replied the Doctor, very smoothly, “you will allow that, without offence, I may decline, after what has been said, to give any farther explanation of a purely professional affair, for which I do not hold myself responsible, save as a matter of courtesy, to any man or any power in existence.”
“Sir,” replied the Squire, more seriously, “where any reason exists for even the slightest suspicion,—I do not say that wrong has been done, but that it may possibly exist,—I beg to state, that the responsibility you disclaim cannot be set aside, and, if need be, must absolutely make itself be felt; and that some suspicion I do entertain, it is needless to scruple at avowing.”
“Did I not feel assured,” answered Rowel, “from the many years during which I have enjoyed the honour of Mr. Lupton's acquaintance, that he can scarcely intend to offer me a deliberate insult, the course I ought to adopt—”
“Whatever course you may think proper to adopt,” interrupted the Squire, “will not alter mine. A very remarkable disclosure has been made to me respecting a patient in your keeping, as well as regarding the death of the late lawyer of Bramleigh.”
Those words startled and excited the Doctor in an extreme degree. They seemed to strike him as might a sudden sickness that turns the brain giddy; and starting from his chair, with his eyes fixed fiercely on Colin, he advanced towards him, exclaiming, “What other falsehoods, you villain, have you dared to utter concerning me or mine? If there be law, sir, in the land for such infamous slander, such base defamation as this, I 'll punish you for it, you rogue, though it cost me my very life! Have you dared to say that I had anything to do with Skinwell's death, sir?”
“I have said to Mr. Lupton, what I will say again,” replied Colin, “because I believe it to be true, and that is, that you helped to kill him.”
“It's a lie!—a lie!—a d—d lie! you slanderous vagabond!”
The Doctor would inevitably have committed a personal assault upon Colin of a very violent nature, had he not in the very midst of his rage been still restrained from so doing by certain prudential reasons, arising from the evident strength and capability of the young man to turn again, and, in every human probability, convert the chastiser into the chastised. He therefore contented himself with fuming and fretting about the room as might some irritated cur, yet haunted with the spectre of a tin-pot appended to his tail. In the midst of this, the “very whirlwind of his passion,” he snatched up his hat, as though unexpectedly seized with an idea of the propriety of taking his leave; but Mr. Lupton had kept an eye upon him.
“Not yet, sir, if you please,” observed the Squire, interposing himself between the Doctor and the door. “I must perform an exceedingly unpleasant office; but nevertheless, Mr. Rowel, it has become my duty to tell you that, for the present, you are my prisoner.”
“I deny it, sir!” exclaimed the Doctor. “I am no man's prisoner!”