"None. But she is my mother's guest."
"None; just so. She is my niece."
Mr. Chandos, with a gesture of astonishment, looked in my face for confirmation or refutation. He got neither. I only clung to him for protection, the tears running down my cheeks.
"She has no protecting relative save myself; she has no other relative, so far as I know, or she knows, in the world, save a lad younger than she is," pursued Mr. Edwin Barley, no anger in his tone, only the firmness of conscious power. "My niece, I tell you, sir."
"Whatever she may be, she is residing under my mother's roof, and as such, is in my charge. If you ever dare to touch her against her will again, sir, I will horsewhip you."
Mr. Chandos held his riding-whip in his hand as he spoke (he had brought it out by chance), and it trembled ominously. Mr. Edwin Barley drew back his lips: not in laughter, in all he did he was in earnest, and his teeth were momentarily seen. Few could boast a set so white and beautiful.
"Harry Chandos, you know that you will one day have to pay for your incivility."
"I know nothing of the sort; and if I did, the Chandoses are not given to calculation. I can tell you what you shall be made to pay for, Mr. Edwin Barley—the trespassing upon my domains. I warned you off them once; I will not warn you again—the law shall do it for me."
"Your domains!" retorted Mr. Edwin Barley.
"Yes, sir, mine," was the haughty answer. "They are mine so long as I am the representative of Sir Thomas Chandos. Have the goodness to quit them now, or I will call my servants to escort you."