By this time the party had with one accord risen from their seats, and divided into groups, some collecting round Wilford and Lawless, others about Oaklands and myself, and the confusion of tongues was perfectly deafening. At length I heard Wilford's voice exclaim: “I consider it unfair in the extreme to lay all this quarrelling and disturbance to me, and, as it is not at all to my taste, I beg to wish you a very good evening, Lawless”.
"You will do no such thing,” cried Oaklands, and, bursting through the cluster of men who surrounded him and endeavoured to detain him, he sprang to the door, double-locked it, and, placing his back against it, added, “no one loaves the room till this affair is settled one way or other.” The action, the tone of voice, and the manner which accompanied them, reminded me so forcibly of a deed of a somewhat similar nature at Dr. Mildman's, when Oaklands first heard of the loss of his letter containing the cheque, and began to suspect foul play—that for a moment the lapse of years was forgotten, and it seemed as though we were boys together again.
Whenever Oaklands was excited by strong emotion of any kind, there was a proud consciousness of power in his every look and motion, which possessed for me an irresistible attraction: and now, as he stood, his noble figure drawn up to its fullest height, his arms folded across his ample chest in an attitude of defiance a sculptor would have rejoiced to imitate; his head thrown slightly back, and his handsome features marked by an expression of haughty indignation; when I reflected that it was a generous regard for my honour which excited that indignation, I felt that my affection for him was indeed “passing the love of women,” and that he was a friend for whom a man might resolve to lay down his life willingly.
While these thoughts passed through my brain Lawless and several of the more influential members of the party had been endeavouring to persuade Wilford to own that he was in the wrong, and ought to apologise, but in vain; the utmost concession they could get him to make was, that “he was not aware that he had offered any particular insult to Mr. Oaklands, but if that gentleman chose to put such a construction upon his words, he could not help it, and should be ready to answer for them when and where he pleased”.
They were then, as a last resource, about to appeal to Oaklands, when I interfered by saying “that the insult, if insult it was, had originated from the part I had taken in the proceedings of the evening, and was directed far more against me than Oaklands; that under these circumstances it was impossible for me to allow him to involve himself further in the affair. If my veracity were impugned, I was the proper person to defend it; there could be but one opinion on that subject.”
To this they all agreed, and at length Oaklands himself was forced reluctantly to confess he supposed I was right.
“In this case, gentlemen,” I continued, “my course is clear; I leave my honour in your hands, certain that in so doing I am taking the wisest course; honourable men and men of spirit like yourselves will, I feel certain, never recommend anything incompatible with the strictest regard for my reputation as a gentleman; neither will you needlessly hurry me into an act, the consequences of which might possibly embitter the whole of my alter life. In order that personal feeling may not interfere any more with the matter, my friend and I will withdraw; Lawless will kindly convey to me your decision, on which, be it what it may, I pledge myself to act;—-I wish you a very good-night.”
Then telling Lawless I should sit up for him, and taking leave of two or three members of the party with whom I was most intimate, I drew Oaklands' arm within my own, and, unlocking the door, left the room, Wilford's fierce black eyes glaring at us with a look of disappointed fury, such as I have witnessed in a caged tiger, being the last object I beheld.