"Sire!" stammered Farrell.
"Damn your private quarrels!" roared Wales, turning on Moore. "Have I not my own wrongs to resent, that you must annoy me with yours now?"
"He will lie to you as he has to others, Sire," replied Moore, refusing to be silenced.
"That remains to be seen, sirrah."
Sir Percival stepped out of the throng surrounding the angry Prince, smiling and debonair as usual.
"I will answer for the truth of any statement Mr. Farrell may make, Sire," said he.
"Continue," growled the Prince, waving Moore back with an impatient gesture.
"Your Highness," said Farrell, quick to take advantage of his opportunity, "the author of this vile attack upon you is one of your friends, a favorite protégé, who, owing all to your favor, thus rewards your kindness by base ingratitude. To your Highness he owes everything; thus he repays you."
"His name?" demanded Wales.
There was a moment's pause, during which silence reigned, as Farrell artfully hesitated in his reply that, thus delayed, it might fall with even more crushing effect upon the object of his hatred. Short as was the time, it sufficed for Moore. Convinced that this was the only opportunity which would be afforded him to avert the disaster he believed to be about to overtake the father of the girl he had loved so truly and patiently, he resolved not to let it pass unutilized.