“As I should have been, Mrs Ellis, to you all,” cried the young man proudly, “if I could not have come back to you like this.”
By this time Barnett had fully recovered the speech of which jealous rage and disappointment had nearly deprived him, and after a savage scowl at Grange, he turned upon the bailiff.
“Look here, Mr Ellis, is this your house? Are you master here?”
Ellis made an angry gesture now.
“My good sir,” he cried; “you see: what can I do?”
“Order this fellow—this beggar—this impostor out. He has no business here.”
Mary turned upon him fiercely, but her angry look faded out, and gave place to a smile of content, as she now linked her hands together about Grange’s strong right arm and looked gently in his face, as if to say, “Don’t be angry, he hardly knows what he says.”
Maddened more by this, Barnett stepped forward to separate them, but, roused now in turn, James Ellis stepped between.
“Yes,” he said firmly; “this is my house, and I am master here, Daniel Barnett. No violence, if you please.”
“As much violence as is necessary to turn this fellow out,” roared the young man. “I claim your promise, my rights. Mary, you are by your father’s words my affianced wife; keep away from that man. Mrs Ellis, stand aside, or I will not be answerable for the consequences. You coward!” he cried to Grange; “you screen yourself between two women. Now then, out with you!”