"I let you off last time lightly, you scoundrel!" Cyril exclaimed.
"This time it is your life or mine."
The man made a furious lunge at him. Cyril parried it, and would at
the next moment have run him through had not Mr. Harvey suddenly
thrown himself between them, hurling Cyril's antagonist to the
ground.
"Put up your sword," he said to Cyril. "This man is my son; scoundrel
and villain, yet still my son, even though he has raised his hand
against me. Leave him to God."
Cyril had stepped a pace back in his surprise. At first he thought
that Mr. Harvey's trouble had turned his brain; then it flashed
across him that this ruffian's name was indeed John Harvey. The man
was about to rise from the floor when Cyril again sprang forward.
"Drop that sword," he exclaimed, "or I will run you through. Now,
sir," he said to Mr. Harvey, "will you draw out that pistol, whose
butt projects from his pocket, or your son may do one of us mischief
yet?"
That such had been the man's intention was evident from the glance of
baffled rage he threw at Cyril.
"Now, sir, go," his father said sternly. "Remember that, henceforth,
you are no son of mine. Did I do my duty I should hand you over to
the watch--not for your threats to me, but for the sword-thrust you
have given to Joseph Edmonds, who has many times carried you on his
shoulder when a child. You may compass my death, but be assured that
not one farthing will you gain thereby. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350