“Stay where you are!” cried Harvey, now thoroughly alarmed by the turn of affairs.
They stopped as if petrified. The three men who were wedged in the pantry door gave over struggling for the right of precedence and turned to face the peril.
Once more he brandished the weapon, and once more there were shrieks and groans, this time in a higher key.
Nellie alone stood her ground. She was desperate. Death was staring her in the face, and she was staring back as if fascinated.
“Harvey! Harvey!” she cried, through bloodless lips. “Don’t do it! Think of Phoebe! Think of your child!”
Rachel was stealing down the hall. The little Napoleon suddenly realised her purpose and thwarted it.
“Come back here!” he shouted. The trembling maid could not obey for a very excellent reason. She dropped to the floor as if shot, and, failing in the effort to crawl under a low hall-seat, remained there, prostrate and motionless. 166
He then addressed himself to Nellie, first cocking the pistol in a most cold-blooded manner. Paying no heed to the commands and exhortations of the men, or the whines of the women, he announced:—
“That’s just what I’ve come here to ask you to do, Nellie; think of Phoebe. Will you promise me to––”
“I’ll promise nothing!” cried Nellie, exasperated. She was beginning to feel ridiculous, which was much worse than feeling terrified. “You can’t bluff me, Harvey, not for a minute.”