"That you shall not do, Sir Massingberd, so surely as this house is mine."
"And who shall prevent me?" exclaimed the baronet, contemptuously measuring his foe from head to foot.
"Not I, sir, indeed," returned Mr. Gerard; "but I will see that my servants put you out of doors by force," and as he spoke he laid his hand upon the bell.
"Before night, then, I shall send for Marmaduke, and he shall be carried back to Fairburn, which, after all, is his proper home, and be there nursed."
"Nursed!" repeated my host, hoarsely. "Nursed by the grave-digger, you mean."
Sir Massingberd turned livid and sat down; then, as one who acts in his sleep, he passed his handkerchief once or twice across his forehead. "How dare you speak such things to me?" said he, looking round about him. "To hear you talk, one would think that I had tried to murder the boy."
"I know you did," cried Mr. Gerard, solemnly, laying his finger upon the baronet's arm. "If your nephew, Marmaduke, dies, his blood is on your head."
"On mine! how on mine? How, in the name of all the devils, could I have hindered the lad's horse from running away with him?"
"I will tell you how. You might have suffered Mr. Long to purchase a horse for the boy, as he offered to do, and not have sent to London for a confirmed run-away."
"He rode it half a dozen times without any harm," replied Sir Massingberd, sullenly.