"If I sell my life, I'll sell it dearly!" replied Mr. Rodney. "I will not be slain without a struggle."
And he elongated himself against the swaying door, while Miss Bindler, with rapid precision, reloaded her revolver in the adjoining bedroom, and the Duchess tore through Winter Garden No. 3.
"Rodney, don't be a fool! Don't be an ass, Rodney!"
"I will! Nothing shall prevent me—nothing on earth! I will! I will!" replied the owner of Mitching Dean, with an attempt at manly decision of manner.
But the Duke was desperate, and was also very much stronger physically than Mr. Rodney. He therefore burst in the door, and added:
"Rodney, you must act for me in this affair—I insist upon it; I require it of you. Rodney, you must act for me in this affair."
The owner of Mitching Dean, who was busily engaged in trying to get under the bed before his visitor had time to slay him, made no reply to this demand, unless the putting of his head and nearly half his trunk into hiding could be called so. But the Duke had laid aside all sense of his great position, and now pointed his remarks, and endeavoured to convey a sense of their real urgency, by seizing fast hold of Mr. Rodney's left leg, and trying with might and main to eject him from the position which he had taken up.
"I will die here! I will not be killed in the open! I will die here!" cried Mr. Rodney in a suffocated voice, passionately endeavouring to force some more of his person beneath the tester.
"You'll die where I choose!" retorted his Grace, losing his temper and commencing to handle the unfortunate gentleman rather roughly. "Come out of it!"