‘But it is the manner of paying it, sir,—the public manner—the exposure that incenses him,’ cried Hilda. ‘I would not for twice the amount, that this had happened.’
‘I daresay not,’ replied Sir Bulkeley; ‘but your father has forced me into the measure. My estate would have been forfeited if I had not repaid the money by six o’clock. It is as unpleasant to me as it can be to him; but I had no alternative.’
At this moment a loud angry cry was heard at the door, and the miser appeared, brandishing his drawn sword at it. His mad career was opposed by Jacob, whose wig was knocked off in his endeavours to push him backwards.
‘Villain!’ cried the miser, shaking his hand at Sir Bulkeley, ‘villain, you shall repent your insolence! Release me, Jacob! Let me get at him!’
‘No, you shan’t!’ replied Jacob, who had to exert all his strength, such was the miser’s fury, to keep him back.
Mr. Scarve’s vociferations of rage were now drowned by the hootings and jeers of the Welsh baronet’s attendants, who did all in their power to incense him further. Terrified by the cries, Hilda clasped her hands in agony, and again addressed herself to Sir Bulkeley.
‘As you are a gentleman, sir, I beseech you to withdraw,’ she said.
‘Such an appeal, and from such lips, is irresistible,’ replied Sir Bulkeley, again raising his hat.
‘He is no gentleman, Hilda!’ shrieked her father, who overheard what was said. ‘Come away, girl, I command you—leave him to me!’
‘Well crowed, old cock!’ cried one of the attendants, in mockery. And all laughed jeeringly, as before.