Bangs had walked out from the town, and was now hurrying back to it, almost beside himself with rage, mortification, and disappointment. He had made sure that Miriam would yield to his demand rather than face the alternative he set before her; and the estimate of his character which she had given him was far from flattering to his self-love and conceit.
There had been nothing of unselfish love in his passion for her, and now it was turned to bitterest hate, so that he could have found a fiendish delight in dealing her a death-blow; in fact, he was so full of rage and hatred toward the whole human race, that he would have felt an inclination to attack almost any one who should cross his path.
He met no one, however, till he had reached the principal business street of the town; then, as he hurried along, catching the sound of footsteps in his rear, he turned about to find Barney Nolan coming toward him at a pace nearly as rapid as his own.
“What are you following me for, scoundrel?” he demanded, accompanying the query with a volley of oaths and curses.
“It’s mesilf as has as good a right to walk the strates o’ the town as you, sor,” retorted Barney. “Go ’long wid yees, an’ niver be afther thryin’ to kape Barney Nolan in order.”
“None of your impudence, sirrah!” growled Bangs, walking on, Barney still keeping in his wake.
In another minute he faced about upon the Irishman again, crying furiously, “I’ll not be followed by you or anybody else, and I tell you if you don’t stop it instantly it’ll be the worse for you!”
“I’m not followin’ ye, but jist goin’ about me own business, an’ that same I’ll continue to do,” returned Barney, coolly.
“Do it at your peril!” cried Bangs, grinding his teeth with rage.
He walked on again a few paces, but still hearing the echoing footsteps in his rear, pulled out a pistol, and turning toward Barney for the third time, fired, instantly killing the innocent object of his unreasonable anger.