"Or?" said Barnabas, smiling and clenching his fists.
"Or it will be the worse—for you—"
"Yes?"
"And for your friend the Captain."
"Yes?"
"And you will give this woman more reason for her tears!"
Then, looking from the pale, threatening eyes, and smiling lips of the man, to the trembling fear of the weeping woman, and remembering Slingsby's deathly cheek and shaking hand, a sudden, great anger came upon Barnabas; his long arm shot out and, pinning Mr. Quigly by the cravat, he shook him to and fro in a paroxysm of fury. Twice he raised his cane to strike, twice he lowered it, and finally loosing his grip, Mr. Quigly staggered back to the opposite wall, and leaned there, panting.
Hereupon Barnabas, somewhat shocked at his own loss of self-restraint, re-settled his cuff, straightened his cravat, and, when he spoke, was more polite than ever.
"Mr. Quigly, pray sit down," said he; "I have no wish to thrash you,—it would be a pity to spoil my cane, so—oblige me by sitting down."
Mr. Quigly opened his mouth as if to speak, but, glancing at Barnabas, thought better of it; yet his eyes grew so pale that they seemed all whites as he sank into the chair.