"You
dare to touch my mistress!"
And with the words he gave him one more stinging cut with the whip.
"Stand off, and let it be man to man," cried Liftore, with a fierce
oath, clenching his teeth in agony and rage.
"That it cannot be, my lord; but I have had enough, and so I hope
has your lordship," said Malcolm; and as he spoke he threw the
whip to the other end of the room, and stood back. Liftore sprang
to his feet, and rushed at him. Malcolm caught him by the wrist
with a fisherman's grasp.
"My lord, I don't want to kill you. Take a warning, and let ill
be, for fear of worse," he said, and threw his hand from him with
a swing that nearly dislocated his shoulder.
The warning sufficed. His lordship cast him one scowl of concentrated
hate and revenge, and leaving the room hurried also from the house.
At the usual morning hour, Malcolm had ridden to Chelsea, hoping to
find his friend in a less despairing and more companionable mood
than when he left him. To his surprise and disappointment he learned
that Lenorme had sailed by the packet to Ostend the night before.
He asked leave to go into the study. There on its easel stood the
portrait of his father as he had last seen it--disfigured with a
great smear of brown paint across the face. He knew that the face
was dry, and he saw that the smear was wet: he would see whether
he could not, with turpentine and a soft brush, remove the insult.
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