“Boy,” said Mynheer, when he had sufficiently mastered his rage to permit of his speaking without committing himself, “what mean you? what words are these? who put them into your mouth?”
“The dead,” replied Martin—“poor Marie; but I am sorry that she did, or that she knew it herself; for, had she not made the discovery, or had you not been aware of her knowledge, it is my belief she would have been here now.”
Then, most wonderful for a man whose wont it was to give way to the most violent anger, even upon trivial occasions, Mynheer only smiled, saying, in a kindly, pitying tone:
“Martin, my dear boy, your grief for your cousin has indeed made you mad, and I forgive you in spite of yourself. But get you at once to your room; there you may give full vent to your natural feelings without offense; to-morrow, perhaps, you will regret what you have said.”
Martin was about to reply, but, taking him by the arm, I said, “Brother, brother, no more angry words at such a time as this;” and he permitted me to lead him from the presence of our amiable guardians.
“Martin,” I said, when we were in our own room, “it was unwise, it was foolish, to beard the lion when we have to live in his very den.”
“It was not foolish, Claud; it was right. It was on my mind, and now it is off; and but for you, I would have told him that he was the cause of our cousin’s death. I tell you, brother, I am certain he killed her.”
“Well, well, Martin, at all events you have made an enemy for life—a dangerous one; for now he knows that you are cognizant of too much for his safety, or at least comfort.”
“Never mind, old fellow, it does not matter,” he replied, quite coolly; “I don’t think it is likely I shall see him again, for I have made up my mind to quit this house to-night.”
“Martin,” said I, astonished at his words, “this is nonsense. Why, even I shall soon believe you ‘a little mad.’”