Overton nodded understandingly.
“I thought so. Then I’ll see Asher; he’s a friend of mine, and I think I can answer for him. We’ve something to fear from England; but there, too, I’ll use my influence, and we’ll hush it up.”
“And I’m to spend the rest of my life supporting the intolerable burden of your magnanimity—your greatness? I can’t understand your feeling toward a fellow who—who treated you as I did. I might as well have murdered you!”
Overton gave him a hard look.
“Understand me, Faunce, I’m human. I don’t care a hang about your feelings, but I’m willing to do my utmost, to give my utmost, to save the woman you’ve dared to marry!”
Faunce drew a tense breath. The accumulated fury of shame and humiliation leaped up. The strain was too much for his taut nerves, and he took a quick step forward.
“I see!” he said in a low voice. “You’re putting me under an obligation because you love my wife! I may have been a craven—I admit that I was a craven—but I have never tried to make any woman hate her husband!”
Like a flash Overton’s right arm shot out, and his fist struck Faunce full in the face. The blow was as sharp as it was unexpected. With the same violent impulse, Faunce leaped at him and hurled him back against the wall. Overton, who was still broken in health, reeled before the assault, and kept his feet only by snatching at the mantel-shelf, while he turned deadly pale. Faunce saw it, let go his hold, and drew back with an inarticulate sound of mingled rage and remorse.
“Good Heavens, you’re making me a coward again! I left you to die once, and now I’ve tried to kill you! Let me go! We two can’t live on the same planet without an intolerable conflict. Take your revenge, expose me—and be hanged!”
Overton, however, had recovered his self-control.