Lester Vane’s face grew whiter, and his lips trembled. Hugh—keeping his bright eye fastened upon him—went on—
“Are you conscious, Mr. Wilton, that the Honorable Lester Vane is a blackleg, a sharper, with cards and false dice—a debauchee—a scoundrel—who, while he was professing the warmest attachment to Miss Wilton, strove, by the most infamous proposals, to ruin the daughter of the man at whose house he had been received with cordial hospitality—that he is a wretch so contemptible that words fail to express his true character? Are you aware, sir, that such is the man you have honoured with a place beneath your roof, and to whom you are eager to entrust the future happiness of your child?”
Mr. Wilton placed his hands to his forehead, bewildered.
He turned to Lester, and in a choking, gasping voice, he said—
“What—what have you to answer to these tremendous charges?”
“That they are, from first to last, false!” answered Vane, striving by a mighty effort to retain a cool self-possession; “wholly, abominably, maliciously false! The truth of the matter is, Mr. Wilton, some time—long before I saw your sweet daughter—the lady, now the wife of that fellow, betrayed a preference for me, which is the secret of”——
“Scoundrel! dare to breathe one word respecting that lady through your foul lips, and, notwithstanding Mr. Wilton’s presence, I will fling you through yon window down to the place beneath.”
“Mere vaunting braggadocio!” returned Vane, with a tremendous effort to appear cool. “Mr. Wilton, I shall commence an action of libel against this infernal slanderer; that will be my best answer to his lying-assertions.”
“There—there should be some proofs adduced to support such terrible charges,” observed Mr. Wilton to Hugh Riversdale, who was labouring under the most painful excitement.
“I am prepared to substantiate many of them by the very clearest evidence!” exclaimed Hal, producing a small packet of papers.