“Well, Huddlestone, what do you say to that?” asked Northmour, turning to the bed.
Up to that moment the banker had given no sign of life, and I, at least, had supposed him to be still lying in a faint; but he replied at once, and in such tones as I have never heard elsewhere, save from a delirious patient, adjured and besought us not to desert him. It was the most hideous and abject performance that my imagination can conceive.
“Enough,” cried Northmour; and then he threw open the window, leaned out into the night, and in a tone of exultation, and with a total forgetfulness of what was due to the presence of a lady, poured out upon the ambassador a string of the most abominable raillery both in English and Italian, and bade him be gone where he had come from. I believe that nothing so delighted Northmour at that moment as the thought that we must all infallibly perish before the night was out.
Meantime the Italian put his flag of truce into his pocket, and disappeared, at a leisurely pace, among the sand-hills.
“They make honourable war,” said Northmour. “They are all gentlemen and soldiers. For the credit of the thing, I wish we could change sides—you and I, Frank, and you too, Missy my darling—and leave that being on the bed to some one else. Tut! Don’t look shocked! We are all going post to what they call eternity, and may as well be above-board while there’s time. As far as I’m concerned, if I could first strangle Huddlestone and then get Clara in my arms, I could die with some pride and satisfaction. And as it is, by God, I’ll have a kiss!”
Before I could do anything to interfere, he had rudely embraced and repeatedly kissed the resisting girl. Next moment I had pulled him away with fury, and flung him heavily against the wall. He laughed loud and long, and I feared his wits had given way under the strain; for even in the best of days he had been a sparing and a quiet laugher.
“Now, Frank,” said he, when his mirth was somewhat appeased, “it’s your turn. Here’s my hand. Good-bye; farewell!” Then, seeing me stand rigid and indignant, and holding Clara to my side—“Man!” he broke out, “are you angry? Did you think we were going to die with all the airs and graces of society? I took a kiss; I’m glad I had it; and now you can take another if you like, and square accounts.”
I turned from him with a feeling of contempt which I did not seek to dissemble.
“As you please,” said he. “You’ve been a prig in life; a prig you’ll die.”
And with that he sat down on a chair, a rifle over his knee, and amused himself with snapping the lock; but I could see that his ebullition of light spirits (the only one I ever knew him to display) had already come to an end, and was succeeded by a sullen, scowling humour.