“I know it, and I feel it.”
“You are base born.”
“You have not omitted to let me know that before,” said the boy, proudly.
“So that, although I am your father’s brother,” added Gray, “you call me uncle but by courtesy.”
The boy was silent, and Gray continued,—
“Stand aside, then, and baulk me not in such a matter as the life of a hound.”
“No,” cried Harry; “were you ten times my uncle from courtesy, you should not harm him!”
Gray clutched his hands convulsively, as if he felt an inclination to rush upon the weak, defenceless boy, and crush him in his fury. He, however, restrained himself, and said,—
“You are mad—quite mad. How can you hope for a moment to resist my will?”
“Uncle,” said the boy, “I have done much to please you; I immure myself here alone with you, and you are not always kind, as you know. Once, then, rouse my suffering heart to resentment, and I will leave you but one of two resources.”