"Do you really mean you won't help me fire off the blunderbuss after all the trouble I've taken to get the powder and shot?" inquired Lionel, putting a curb upon his temper, and affecting a reproachful tone. "I declare it's too bad of you!"
"I can't help it," Dick responded; "I'm very sorry."
"You're not!"
"I am! I am indeed! Oh, Lionel, do say you won't—"
"But I will!" Lionel interrupted angrily. "Mother's no right to spoil our fun! She treats me like a baby!"
"I can't think how you can want to fire off the blunderbuss after what she said! I know if my mother—"
"Your mother!" Lionel cried, rudely interrupting again. "You think a lot of her, don't you? Your mother, indeed! You're about the only one in this house who thinks anything of her. Grandfather hates her! That's why he's angry with your father—because he married your mother! So, there!"
For a moment Dick's face expressed nothing but blank amazement, then the colour rushed to his cheeks in a flood of crimson, and dying away, left him ghastly pale. The two boys looked at each other, the elder triumphant, the younger with a great horror slowly creeping into his eyes. Neither spoke, and neither noticed that the dining-room door had opened, and Sir Richard was watching them. The old man had heard every word of Lionel's last speech, and knew that the boys must have been quarrelling. Perhaps, never until he had heard his sentiments towards his son's wife so plainly stated— "Grandfather hates her! That's why he's angry with your father—because he married your mother!" —did he realise in what an unfavourable light his unforgiving spirit must appear to others. Strange as it may seem, he was not angry with Lionel for blurting out the truth; perhaps he recognised that a spirit of vindictiveness very like his own had animated the cruel speech. As he slowly stepped towards the boys, they suddenly became aware of his presence. Lionel slunk out of the hall by way of the front door without a word; and Dick, after one shrinking glance at his grandfather, sped wildly upstairs.
Sir Richard followed the small flying figure, which in another instant was out of sight; but the old man heard the heavy door leading to the picture-gallery open and shut, and knew where the fugitive had fled. The little boy, hiding in the darkest corner of the picture-gallery, heard Sir Richard's slow footsteps pause momentarily outside the door, and hoped they would proceed further. He did not want to face his grandfather when his heart was bursting with mingled pain and indignation; but there was no help for it, he must do so, for Sir Richard had entered, and was peering about in search of him.
"Dick," he said anxiously, "Dick, where are you?"