"Don't be a fool, Viola!" cried Kenneth. "Leave him to me. Go back to the house. I will attend to him."
She stopped and lifted her eyes to stare at the speaker in sheer wonder and astonishment.
"Why,—you heard what he said. You heard what he called my mother. Stand away from him, Kenneth."
"I can't allow you to shoot him, Viola. You will have to shoot me first. My God, child,—do you want to have a man's life-blood on your hands?"
"He said she ran away with your father," she cried, a spasm of pain crossing her face. "He said I was born before they were married. I have a right to kill him. Do you hear? I have a right to—"
"Don't you know it would be murder? Cold-blooded murder? No! You will have to kill me first. Do you understand? I shall not move an inch. I am not going to let you do something you will regret to the end of your life. Put it down! Drop that gun, I say! If there is to be any killing, I will do it,—not you!"
She closed her eyes. Her tense body relaxed. The two men, watching her with bated breath and vastly different emotions, could almost visualize the struggle that was going on within her. At last the long rifle barrel was lowered; as the muzzle touched the ground she opened her eyes. Slowly they went from Kenneth to the man who crouched behind him. She gazed at the bloody face as if seeing it for the first time.
The woman in her revolted at the spectacle. After a moment of indecision, she turned with a shudder and walked toward the house, dragging the rifle by the stock. As she was about to mount the steps she paused to send a swift glance over her shoulder and then, obeying the appeal in Kenneth's eyes, reluctantly, even carefully, leaned the gun against a post and disappeared through the door.
"Stand up!" ordered Gwynne, turning to Lapelle. "I ought to kill you myself. It's in my heart to do so. Do you know what you've done to her?"
Barry drew himself up, his fast swelling, bloodshot eyes filled with a deadly hatred. His voice was thick and unsteady.