“Friend? Why, confound you, sir; Mr Gartram ordered you never to enter his house again.”
“Let Mr Gartram rest,” replied Chris, gravely, and his tones were so impressive and seemed so full of suggestion that Glyddyr shrank again, and was silent. “I only wished to say that Miss Gartram is ill—utterly prostrate—and that an intrusion—”
“Intrusion!” cried Glyddyr, recovering himself, and beginning to quiver with jealous rage.
“Yes, sir; intrusion upon Miss Gartram at such a time would be as cruel as uncalled for.”
“Intrusion! Such insolence! Are you aware, sir—”
“I am aware of everything, sir, everything,” said Chris firmly; and once more Glyddyr, ridden by coward conscience, shivered, that word “everything” conveyed so much. “This is neither time nor place to discuss such matters. That poor gentleman is lying dead yonder; his child is broken-hearted, and I ask you, as a gentleman, to refrain from going up there now.”
There was silence for a few moments, during which Glyddyr battled hard with his feelings, and Chris felt that, had it been any one else, he would not have spoken in this way.
“And suppose, sir, I refuse?” cried Glyddyr at last.
There was another pause, for the smouldering hatred against this man deep down in Chris Lisle’s breast began to glow, and there was a curious twitching about his fingers; but the thoughts of what had taken place, and Claude’s pale, sorrowful countenance, rose before him, and he said quietly,—
“You cannot refuse, sir.”