He looked about him like a man driven into a corner. “No, no, I don’t want to sit down!” he said. “I ought to be in bed! I ought to be there now.”
“Well, I shall not keep you long,” she answered, trying to humor his mood, while all the time she was wondering why he was dressed at this time, he whom she had not seen dressed for a fortnight. And why had Toft tried to keep her out? “It is only,” she continued, “that I heard to-day that there is to be a contest at Riddsley. And that Mr. Basset is to be one of the candidates.”
“Is that all?” he said. “News, you said? That’s no news! Bigger fool he, unless he does more for himself than he does for his friends! Peter the Hermit become Peter the Great! He’ll soon find himself Peter the Piper, who picked a peck of pepper! Hot pepper he’ll find it, d—n him!” with sudden spite. “He’s no better than the rest! He’s all for himself! All for himself!” he repeated, his voice rising in his excitement.
“But——”
“There, don’t agitate me!” He wiped his brow with a shaking hand, while his eyes, avoiding hers, continued to look about him as if he sought something. “I knew how it would be. You’ve no thought for me. You don’t remember how weak I am! Hardly able to crawl across the floor, to put one foot before another. And you come chattering! chattering!”
She had thought him odd before, but never so odd as this evening; and she was sorry that she had come. She was going to say what she could and escape, when he began again. “You’re the last person who should upset me! The very last!” he babbled. “When it’s all for you! It’s little good it can do me. And Basset, he’d the ball at his foot, and wouldn’t kick it! But I’ll show you, I’ll show you all!” he continued, gesticulating with a violence that distressed Mary. “Ay, and I’ll show him what I am! He thinks he’s safe, d—n him! He thinks he’s safe! He’s spending my money and adding up my balance! He’s walking on my land and sleeping in my bed! He’s peacocking in my name! But—but——” he stopped, struggling for words. For an instant he turned on her over his shoulder a face distorted by passion.
Thoroughly alarmed, she tried to soothe him. “But I am sure, sir,” she said, “Mr. Basset would never——”
“Basset!”
“I’m sure he never dreamt——”
“Basset!” he repeated. “No! but Audley! Lord Audley, Audley of Beaudelays, Audley of nowhere and nothing! And no Audley! no Audley!” he repeated furiously, while again he fought for breath, and again he mastered himself and lowered his tone. “No Audley!” he whispered, pointing a hand at her, “but Jacob, girl! Jacob the supplanter, Jacob the changeling, Jacob the baseborn! And he thinks I lie awake of nights, hundreds of nights, for nothing! He thinks I dream of him—for nothing! He thinks I go out with the bats—for nothing! He thinks I have a canker here! Here!” And he clapped his hand to his breast, a grotesque, yet dreadful figure in his huddled dressing-gown, his flaccid cheeks quivering with rage. “For nothing! But I’ll show him! I’ll ruin him! I’ll——”