“Who dares”—
She stopped in the midst of her incensed exclamation, for at that moment the hall-door was opened, and with a wild clatter of angry words from Patrick below, something bounced in and up-stairs, and rushed panting to fall before them.
It was Tugmutton. They gazed upon him in utter amazement. He fell prone, then rose suddenly on his knees as if a spring in the floor had shot him up, and knelt gasping and speechless before them, a fat open-mouthed face of ashen fright glaring with white saucer-eyes upon them from its great shocks of wool, and the two huge hands lifted like the paws of a begging dog, in an agony of supplication. For a moment, they looked at him astounded. Suddenly Harrington saw his cap lying on the floor—staggered back with a reeling brain, dashed forward with a spring up to Roux’s room, and flung open the door.
Roux was lying on the bed asleep, and did not waken. For an instant Harrington’s eye swept the chamber, then became fixed. He heard the voices down-stairs. He heard the regular breathings of the sleeping man. He heard the dinning of his own brain. Then all seemed to grow still, and with a dreadful feeling in his mind, he slowly turned and went down.
Tall, erect, terrible, white as death, he entered the library. They gazed upon his face with draining eyes. He looked at them for a moment in silence. The boy still knelt gasping and shuddering on the floor. But they were motionless—motionless as marble.
“Mother,” His voice was clear and low. He paused. “Mother—collect yourself. Be calm. Has he told you?”
There was silence, intense and awful. He did not look at his wife, but he felt that she turned away. He looked only at the pallid face gazing at him with parted lips and mute eyes between its silver tresses, as if it had turned to stone. Suddenly her voice rang.
“He has not told me. Speak! I can bear anything but this.”
“Mother, the poor wanderer to whom you gave shelter is gone. He went out with the boy. He has been kidnapped in the streets of Boston.”
She stood for a moment, ghastly, rigid, immovable. Suddenly a low cry wailed from her lips and she fell. He sprang and caught her, lifted her in his arms and bore her to a couch. Muriel glanced from the room. Flying to the windows, he flung them open to let in the fresh air. Then, back to the lady in her swoon, and kneeling beside her, his quick hands snapped the silken strings of her bodice, unclasped her belt, and loosened her clothes. The boy softly sank on his face, and lay gasping on the floor.