"'T is false—the boy killed himself, as Edith herself knows full well. Am I to be held accountable for the dissipation of a young fool, who, when once the curb was removed, went headlong to destruction without the necessity of any prompting from me."
"We will waive that part of the question, if you please, Mr. Barclay. I have brought with me one who can prove much more than that. Come forward, Antoine."
The Frenchman advanced, and Barclay grew pale as he recognized him.
"Let us retire to a private room," continued Atwood, in a lower tone—"I would not have Mrs. Euston and her daughter hear too suddenly the developments I am prepared to make."
Then turning to Edith he said—
"You are saved, my dear Edith. Retire with your mother, while I settle with Mr. Barclay."
Mechanically Barclay led the way into an adjoining room. When there, he turned haughtily and said—
"Now, sir, explain yourself—tell me why my privacy is thus invaded, and—"
Atwood interrupted him.
"It is useless to attempt bravado with me, sir. Your whole career is too intimately known to me to render it of any avail. You know that from my boyhood I have loved Miss Euston, for you may remember a conversation which took place between us several years since, when you were received as a visiter at her mother's house. Jealousy enabled you to penetrate what had been carefully veiled from others, and you taxed me with what I would not deny. Do you remember the words you used to the boy you then spoke to? That you would move heaven and earth to win Edith Euston."