"Perhaps nature has already done that kindly act for you," I put in, as he paused to take a long breath with which to whet his wrath.
I know, now, that it was wrong for me to make these saucy and irritating replies; but I could not well help it then. Tom Thornton was a villain, by his own confession. My uncle had declared that he had stained his soul with crime for his son's sake. Whichever was the greater villain, it was clear that the son was the more obdurate, graceless, and unrepentant of the two. I had no patience with him. I had no respect for him, and I certainly had no fear of him. Even policy would not permit me to treat him with a consideration I did not feel.
"For your insults we will settle by and by; at present my business relates to this girl," said he, smarting under my charge.
"Well, Mr. Tom Thornton, so far as Miss Loraine is concerned, your business with me is finished," I replied.
"Not yet; before I have done you will be glad to tell me where the girl is."
"I will tell you nothing in regard to her."
"I command you to tell me where she is."
"You may command, if you choose."
"And I will be obeyed," said he, furiously.
"You will see whether you are or not."