ign this order! And why not?"

"Because you will look into yourself, and you will do justice to the
lady."

"I should do her justice by sending her to Tyburn," said Buckingham.
"This lady is infamous."

"My Lord, Milady de Winter is an angel; you know that she is, and I
demand her liberty of you."

"Bah! Are you mad, to talk to me thus?" said Buckingham.

"My Lord, excuse me! I speak as I can; I restrain myself. But, my Lord,
think of what you're about to do, and beware of going too far!"

"What do you say? God pardon me!" cried Buckingham, "I really think he
threatens me!"

"No, my Lord, I still plead. And I say to you: one drop of water
suffices to make the full vase overflow; one slight fault may draw down
punishment upon the head spared, despite many crimes."

"Mr. Felton," said Buckingham, "you will withdraw, and place yourself at
once under arrest."

"You will hear me to the end, my Lord. You have seduced this young girl;
you have outraged, defiled her. Repair your crimes toward her; let her
go free, and I will exact nothing else from you."

"You will exact!" said Buckingham, looking at Felton with astonishment,
and dwelling upon each syllable of the three words as he pronounced
them.

"My Lord," continued Felton, becoming more excited as he spoke, "my
Lord, beware! All England is tired of your iniquities; my Lord, you have
abused the royal power, which you have almost usurped; my Lord, you are
held in horror by God and men. God will punish you hereafter, but I will
punish you here!"

"Ah, this is too much!" cried Buckingham, making a step toward the door.

Felton barred his passage.

"I ask it humbly of you, my Lord," said he; "sign the order for the
liberation of Milady de Winter. Remember that she is a woman whom you
have dishonored."

"Withdraw, sir," said Buckingham, "or I will call my attendant, and have
you placed in irons."

"You shall not call," said Felton, throwing himself between the duke and
the bell placed on a stand encrusted with silver. "Beware, my Lord, you
are in the hands of God!"

"In the hands of the devil, you mean!" cried Buckingham, raising his
voice so as to attract the notice of his people, without absolutely
shouting.

"Sign, my Lord; sign the liberation of Milady de Winter," said Felton,
holding out a paper to the duke.

"By force? You are joking! Holloa, Patrick!"

"Sign, my Lord!"

"Never."

"Never?"

"Help!" shouted the duke; and at the same time he