She gave a cry of horror at the ill-omened words, and Wilfred turned with a bound to clutch Van Zwieten by the throat.
"You hound!" he cried. "You miserable dog!" and he hurled the big man to the ground.
Taken by surprise, the Dutchman had fallen; but he rose to his feet with an ugly scowl, cursing bitterly. "I'll pay you out for this!" he said menacingly. "At present my business is with Mrs. Burton."
"I refuse to speak to you," cried she. "You are a wicked man, and God will punish you."
"I rather think that it is you who have been punished," he sneered. "Your husband is dead, or pretty near it. Now it is my turn."
"He is not dead. He will live when you are lying in your grave. Leave me; you have done harm enough!"
"But he has not paid for it!" cried Wilfred, savagely.
"No, nor will he pay!" cried Van Zwieten, defiantly.
Wilfred pulled out his revolver. "I will make you pay!" he said. "You shall fight me!"
The Dutchman was no coward, but he drew back from the terrible expression on the young man's face, accentuated as it was in the strong moonlight.