Jermain was silent. The course of the Master of Windlestrae grew with each sentence, to him and the rest, more astonishing. But the secret of it was not Boyd's hope to avert by bandying of words or by his dignity the storm now let loose. In the dark attic the Master had risen from his knees believing, as if from an assurance of the Lord, that the time for blunt truth, right against might, was set straight before him. "God help me!" he cried, "not another twist, not another half-lie nor Devil's gloze of fact shall they have from lips of me or mine. Only a long and black list of them could serve us now; and that for how little space! Reveal thine arm to me this day, O Thou of the Covenant!" It was with the iron composure of some martyrs who have gone to their stakes that Gilbert Boyd had entered the East Room.
"Look here, Mr. Boyd," said Jermain, now striving to maintain a certain politic decorum, "I will have no such insinuations. It is true that I—or some—all—of my attendance became, last evening, owing to the fatigues of the day's riding, less—less abstemious at table than we might properly have been. I apologize for it. I apologize for the way in which we conducted ourselves during the inspection of your famous Mouse's Nest——"
"You do well, sir," said Boyd, coldly.
"Do well?" repeated Jermain, angrily. "By Mars! but I dare swear that your Scotch revenge for my acquaintance with the secret chamber was thus taken. 'Tis like a Scotchman."
"That is false. I bore no malice for your knowledge, nor for your violence. You were in no state to conduct yourself like a gentleman."
Alack! Discretion ought ever to elbow Valor, but so seldom does. Old Gilbert Boyd was bringing to bear in this interview many heroic qualities—his love for the truth, his trust in Heaven, and the simple power of a bold soul. Jermain inwardly weakened before them; and whatever he attempted to seem, he was beginning to wonder whether he were behaving wisely. He did not wish, he dared not just now, to press the affair. To do so he must be re-enforced from somewhere. His reputation as a soldier Boyd plainly held in his hands. He feared him. He was already thinking it would be better to swallow his pride, hurry off from the Manor with as much dignity as he could collect, and then descend again upon it from Neith, some fine morning, like a whirlwind. Yes, that would make brave amends! Such were Jermain's reflections when Boyd said that indignant something he needed not—that luckless, "You were in no state to conduct yourself like a gentleman."
"You lie, Mr. Boyd!" cried the young captain. He threw himself at Gilbert's throat, forgetting the disparity in their years, forgetting policy, everything.
"Back with you, baby in your gold-laced cap!" quoth Boyd, dashing him to the floor with one stroke of his muscular arm, all his fiery temper and outraged respect showing themselves in his defiant attitude.
Jermain struck out both hands in falling. He dragged Boyd nearly prostrate. Gilbert resisted furiously. This violent turn of affairs consumed so little time that the crestfallen Roxley and Dawkin were taken by surprise. But Dawkin and one of the men-servants sprang forward and caught hold of the Captain. Roxley grasped Boyd. The two were forced apart. With Boyd panting and Jermain cursing, each was made to right himself.
But, just as the on-lookers restrained them, Andrew Boyd hurriedly crossed the threshold of the room. He uttered a cry of terror. In the confusion of struggling figures, the clamor of eavesdropping women, and exclamations of the rest, it seemed to him immediately that Roxley was throttling Gilbert.