His first movement of indignation was to seize the dog with no gentle hand. She whined loudly; and Leonard, whom he had not seen, shouted angrily, 'Let her alone;' then, at another cry from her, finding his advance to her rescue impeded by a barricade of the crowded and disarranged furniture, he grew mad with passion, and launched the stone in his hand, a long sharp-pointed belemnite. It did not strike Henry, but a sound proclaimed the mischief, as it fell back from the surface of the mirror, making a huge star of cracks, unmarked by Leonard, who, pushing sofa and ottoman to the right and left, thundered up to his brother, and with uplifted hand demanded what he meant by his cruelty.
'Is—is this defiance?' stammered Henry, pointing to the disordered room.
'Look here, Averil,' as she appeared at the sounds, 'do you defend this boy now he has very nearly killed me?'
'Killed you!' and Leonard laughed angrily; but when Henry held up the elf-bolt, and he saw its sharp point, he was shocked, and he saw horror in Averil's face.
'I see,' he said gravely. 'It was a mercy I did not!' and he paused. 'I did not know what I was about when you were misusing my dog, Henry. Shake hands; I am sorry for it.'
But Henry had been very much frightened as well as angered, and thought, perhaps, it was a moment to pursue his advantage.
'You treat things lightly,' he said, not accepting the hand.
'See what you have done.'
'I am glad it was not your head,' said Leonard. 'What does it cost? I'll pay.'
'More than your keep for a year,' moaned Henry, as he sighed over the long limbs of the starfish-like fracture.