“Oh, father, don’t, don’t! You’ll hurt him!” she cried piteously.
But the entreaty only served to whet Theodore’s appetite for blood.
“Hurt him! I mean to! I mean to have his life!” shouted he, while his light eyes seemed to be starting from his head.
And, indeed, it seemed as if he would proceed to carry out this threat, when Bram, to the terror of Claire and the evident astonishment of her father, rushed upon Theodore, and, cleverly avoiding the thrust which the latter made at him, seized the hilt of the sword, and wrested it from his grasp.
It was a bold act, and one which needed some address. Mr Biron was for the moment sobered by his amazement.
“Give me back my sword, you impudent rascal!” cried he, making as he spoke a vain attempt to regain possession of the weapon.
But Bram, who was a good deal stronger than he looked, kept him off easily with his right hand, while he retained a tight hold on the sword with his left.
“You shall have it back to-morrow reeght enough,” said Bram good-humoredly. “But maybe it’ll be safer outside t’house till ye feel more yerself like. Miss Claire yonder knaws it’s safe wi’ me.”
“Oh, yes; oh, yes,” panted Claire eagerly, though in truth she had not the least idea who this mysterious knight-errant was. “Let him have it, father; it’s perfectly safe with him.”
But this action of his daughter’s in siding with the enemy filled Mr Biron with disgust. With great dignity, supporting himself against the wall as he spoke, and gesticulating emphatically with his right hand, while with his left he fumbled about for his gold pince-nez, he said in solemn tones—