He stood there with his face thrust forward, his hands clenched, and a fiercely vindictive look in his eyes, while Glen seemed to be weighing his position, but he was not. He let his eyes wander from Montaigne to Lord Henry. Then he glanced at Ruth, who for a moment met his gaze with a piteous, appealing glance, before flushing deeply, and drooping in very shame.
“Heaven bless her, she is too good for me!” thought Glen; “but before this scoundrel should lay hands upon her—”
“You understand me,” reiterated Montaigne; “now go.”
“Understand you!” whispered Glen; and as he spoke he laid one hand sharply on Montaigne’s shoulder, clutching him in so fierce a grip that he caused intense pain. “Yes; now understand me.”
Montaigne glared at him, and he suffered acutely, but he did not wince.
“You have uttered your threats: now hear mine. That lady’s reputation is in your hands.”
“Is this all?” said Montaigne defiantly.
“No,” whispered Glen, placing his lips close to Montaigne’s ear; “I have not read your death-sentence: betray us, and I will kill you, so help me God!”
The two men were glaring at each other, and by degrees, as Montaigne’s face grew of a sickly, leaden hue, his eyelids drooped, and he shrank away.
Glen crossed to Ruth and took her hand.