Rust went up and slapped him again. “Get up just manhood enough to raise that sword,” Adam implored. “Take it and strike any sort of a foul blow at me—one of your foulest—do! you dog.”
The craven tried to make a run at the door. Adam pushed him back and kicked him again toward the center of the room.
“This is murder! I refuse to fight with such a villain!” cried the fellow. “Let me out, or I shall call for help.”
“You wouldn’t dare to let anybody know you are in town,” said Rust, contemptuously. “Howl, do howl, and let me tell the public what you are. Halberd, alas, there is no manhood in it. Therefore fetch me the whip I saw in your apartments, for a sad bit of business.”
To all of Randolph’s protests and wild chatterings of fear and hatred, Rust was deaf. He took the whip, which Halberd presently brought, and proceeded to cut Randolph across the face, the legs, the shoulders and the hands till the craven smarted with a score of purple welts.
“Halberd, you may clean your boots afterward,” Adam said at last. “Be good enough to kick the dog from the room.”
Halberd placed but two of his aids to departure, and then, Rust opening the door, the craven flew madly out and away, a maniac in appearance, an assassin in his state of mind.
CHAPTER X.
AFTER SIX YEARS.
At Grandther Donner’s house, Garde had passed the day with her heart so fluttering between hope and fear that she was all unstrung by the time the evening arrived. She could bear it no longer, then, and with a shawl on her head she started out to go to the Soams’ to learn what she might of the many events of the hour.