[figure description] Page 312.[end figure description]

At sight of Earle, the baronet recoiled
and shook in every limb. Then a diabolical
joy shone in his bloodshot eyes,
and his mouth slowly expanded into
the hideous grin which was habitual with
him.

For a moment, neither of the adversaries
spoke. The baronet looked keenly at his intended
victim.

Earle was as thin as a ghost, and frightfully
pale, except in the centre of his cheeks. There
a hectic flush burned, like a red-hot coal. As
he had advanced he had staggered. As he
looked at the baronet now, his eyes showed
plainly that the young man was approaching a
paroxysm of fever; that the wound inflicted by

[figure description] Page 313.[end figure description]

Wilde had at last worked its results, and
strength of mind and body were leaving him
together.

The expression of diabolical joy in the baronet's
face deepened. But, spite of this feeling,
the face of Earle seemed to cow him.

“What is—your pleasure?” he stammered.
“What brings you to this house?”

“To slay you, if necessary, as you slew Giles
Maverick!” shouted Earle, “unless you tell me
where I may find my mother!”

The baronet recoiled.

“My mother!” shouted Earle, his hand going
to his empty belt, “or, by heaven, I'll have
your blood, were you fifty times my father!”

“Then he does not know yet!” came in low,
muttered tones from the baronet, as, with his
eyes on the young man's hot face, he retreated
toward the right-hand apartment.

“My mother!—where is my mother?—and
that marriage-record you stole at Martigny?”

As he spoke in his hoarse voice, strident and
metallic from the effect of fever, Earle advanced
on the baronet, who continued to retreat
before him.

In the baronet's eyes there was something
frightful,—a venom which may be seen in the

[figure description] Page 314.[end figure description]

eyes of the cobra, when he raises his deadly
crest and is about to spring.

“Your mother? I know nothing of her,”
he said, watching Earle warily, and continuing
to retire.

“Murderer! No! You shall not escape
me! You are my father, but—”

He staggered. But for the table which stood
near him, he would have fallen to the earth.
He leaned upon it, and passed his other hand
over his brow as though to clear his vision.

“My mother!” he murmured, faintly.

His doom had, in that moment, been pronounced.

The baronet had turned and whispered a few
hurried words to Wilde. The latter had disappeared
at one bound.

Suddenly Earle seemed to recover his
strength, as though by a miracle. On the wall
hung a sword. He caught it down and rushed
on the baronet.

“Speak! Tell me where to find my mother
and that paper,” he shouted, “or I will tear you
in pieces, whether you be my father or not!
Answer, monster that you are, where have you
hidden my mother? You murdered Giles
Maverick—the very dog who saw it rose to

[figure description] Page 315.[end figure description]

convict you! You robbed the register at Martigny
like a felon and a thief! Last, my
mother disappears—you may have murdered
her, as you would murder me if you dared!”

“I dare!” came in a deep and sombre voice
from the baronet.

As he spoke the door of the secret closet in
the wall flew open: the figure of Wilde appeared
in the opening like a hideous picture in
its frame; a bludgeon rose, descended, and fell
upon Earle's right temple, and he fell forward
at full length, deprived of consciousness, it
seemed of life.

“Now for the rope! the rope!” shouted the
baronet, hoarsely.

Wilde rushed into the apartment, and threw
a rope around the young man's shoulders.
Then, at a signal from the baronet, he wrapped
and re-wrapped his arms, thus rendering him
entirely powerless, even if he recovered his
senses.

“What next, sir?” growled the Hercules,
breathing heavily, and gazing with knit brows
on the prostrate figure.

“Death!” came in a low tone from the baronet,
whose face resembled that of a corpse.
“Death! He has forced this on me! Death!

[figure description] Page 316.[end figure description]

and death in presence of the dust of Giles
Maverick!”

The Hercules started and turned pale. Rough
and unscrupulous as he was, the words of the
baronet horrified him.

“You don't mean—”

“Yes,” came in the same low voice from
the lips of Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke. “What
is the difference? It must not take place
here! He must be lost sight of, or you and I
mount the gallows! He must die that I may
live! He shall not first put the rope around
my neck, and then, as the son of the Viscount
Cecil, inherit this estate! He shall die, and—
yonder! He has made himself the champion
of Giles Maverick! Let him wake to find
himself close to him in the vault! Say
nothing! I have resolved on it! Refuse to
aid me, and you hang! Two horses!—quick!
and tools to open the Maverick vault! Once
shut up there, he will not trouble us!—the
dead tell no tales!”

p517-322

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