At these warning words John Glenalvan threw himself upon his accuser with the cry of an infuriated wild beast.
Richard Leith was weak and ill. He had risen from a sick-bed, on which wasting anxiety and grief had thrown him, when he came to Glenalvan Hall.
He went down like an infant before the strong fury of his opponent, and the old man's wailing cry pierced the air.
"John, hold your hand! For God's sake, do not murder the man!"
[CHAPTER XL.]
John Glenalvan did not heed his father's frightened remonstrance.
He continued to rain furious blows on his feeble but struggling foe.
The fell instinct of murder was aroused within his soul, and Richard Leith would have fallen a sure victim to its fury, but that suddenly the slight form of a woman rushed into the room, and, with a wild and piercing shriek, sprang upon John Glenalvan's neck, clutching it with frantic fingers in the endeavor to tear him from his almost dying victim.