Glencore never went to bed sober! At all events, she hated him, and
detested his miserly habits."

"Another mistake, my dear Major. Glencore was never what is called a
rich man, but he was always a generous one!"

"I suppose you'll not deny that he used to thrash her? Ay, and with a
horsewhip too!"

"Come, come, Scaresby; this is really too coarse for mere jesting."

"Jest? By Jove! it was very bitter earnest. She told Brignolles all
about it. I 'm not sure she didn't show him the marks."

"Take my word for it, Scaresby," said Upton, dropping his voice to a low
but measured tone, "this is a base calumny, and the Duke of Brignolles
no more circulated such a story than I did. He is a man of honor, and
utterly incapable of it."

"I can only repeat that I believe it to be perfectly true!" said
Scaresby, calmly. "Nobody here ever doubted the story."

"I cannot say what measure of charity accompanies your zeal for truth in
this amiable society, Scaresby, but I can repeat my assertion that this
must be a falsehood."

"You will find it very hard, nevertheless, to bring any one over to your
opinion," retorted the unappeasable Major. "He was a fellow everybody
hated; proud and supercilious to all, and treated his wife's
relations--who were of far better blood than himself--as though they
were _canaille_."

A loud crash, as if of something heavy having fallen, here interrupted
their colloquy, and Upton sprang from his seat and hastened into the
adjoining room. Close beside the door--so close that he almost fell over
it in entering--lay the figure of Lord Glencore. In his efforts to
reach the door he had fainted, and there he lay,--a cold, clammy sweat
covering his livid features, and his bloodless lips slightly parted.

It was almost an hour ere his consciousness returned; but when it did,
and he saw Upton alone at his bedside, he pressed his hand within his
own, and said, "I heard it all, Upton, every word! I tried to reach
the room; I got out of bed--and was already at the door--when my brain
reeled, and my heart grew faint It may have been malady, it might be
passion,--I know not; but I saw no more. He is gone,--is he not?" cried
he, in a faint whisper.

"Yes, yes,--an hour ago; but you will think nothing of what he said,
when I tell you his name. It was Scaresby,--Major Scaresby; one whose
bad tongue is the one solitary claim by which he subsists in a society
of slanderers!"

"And he is gone!" repeated the other