The blood flamed in her face. "Have you nothing to say to me, sir? I shall ask you once more what this poor wounded boy has done to you, that you propose to kill him?"
You never saw an uglier mug than Belknap's in all your days, as it appeared then. Ordinarily, although I hate to say it, he was a fine-looking man, but now his face was so twisted he looked like the devil in person. And still he said nothing. He had plenty good reason not to.
At this, Mary went at him. "I thought you a good man—a wise man," she said, with a bitter quiet that burnt, in every word. "You are a cowardly scoundrel. Attack the boy if you dare. I think I am a match for such as you."
And so help me John Rodgers, if she didn't catch up the heavy ruler from his desk and stand ready for him!
If I had the least remaining pity for Belknap, the look he threw at her finished it. He would have struck her if he could. I know it. The man was nothing but a rotten mess of selfishness.
"Bah!" says she, throwing down the ruler with disgust. "I am making much out of little. You are not worth notice."
She turned to me, all womanly gentleness and pity.
"Never mind, Will dear," she said. "You are safe, he dare not touch you. What was it you risked your life to tell me?"
"Mary," I said, speaking very slowly, to make it sound its worst. "Arthur—is—shot."
She acted as if she was, too. I caught her just in time. She hung so for a moment, not fainting, but as lifeless.