“Rich, it is your doing, not mine!” he cried wildly. “What are the diamonds to the loss of you?”
“But, Mark,” she cried impetuously, “this is madness. You suspect him. You shall speak now—you shall. You have thought my father did this thing?”
“You drag it from me,” he groaned. “I do.”
“Oh, shame!” cried Richmond, shrinking from him; “to suspect the poor old man, who nearly died in your defence.”
“What!” cried Mark.
“Whom we found struck down bleeding, and whom I am neglecting now, when he is hovering almost between life and death—neglecting that I might come to him whom I thought the soul of chivalry and faith.”
“Stop!” cried Mark, in a harsh voice, as he released Rich, who straggled from him, and stood with his hands pressed to his eyes. “Janet, I have been off my head. I seem to think wildly now and then. Do I hear her aright, or am I still confused? What does she say?”
“I—I don’t quite know myself,” faltered Janet, bursting into tears.
“And yet I seem to understand,” cried Mark excitedly. “Rich dearest, speak to me again. Your father found—struck down—in my defence?”
“Yes, that is what I said,” replied Rich coldly.