"'To protect, watch over, serve her.'

"'You, sir--you, the tutor?'

"'Not one word of insult, sir,' interposed she; 'not one syllable of
disrespect to Mr. Moore in this house.'

"'Do you take his part?'

"'_His_ part? oh yes!'

"She turned to me with a sudden fond movement, which I met by circling
her with my arm. She and I both rose.

"'Good Ged!' was the cry from the morning-gown standing quivering at the
door. _Ged_, I think, must be the cognomen of Mr. Sympson's Lares. When
hard pressed he always invokes this idol.

"'Come forward, uncle; you shall hear all.--Tell him all, Louis.'

"'I dare him to speak--the beggar! the knave! the specious hypocrite!
the vile, insinuating, infamous menial!--Stand apart from my niece, sir.
Let her go!'

"She clung to me with energy. 'I am near my future husband,' she said.
'Who dares touch him or me?'

"'Her husband!' He raised and spread his hands. He dropped into a seat.

"'A while ago you wanted much to know whom I meant to marry. My
intention was then formed, but not mature for communication. Now it is
ripe, sun-mellowed, perfect. Take the crimson peach--take Louis Moore!'

"'But' (savagely) 'you _shall not_ have him; he _shall not_ have you.'

"'I would die before I would have another. I would die if I might not
have him.'

"He uttered words with which this page shall never be polluted.

"She turned white as death; she shook all over; she lost her strength. I
laid her down on the sofa; just looked to ascertain that she had not
fainted--of which, with a divine smile, she assured me. I kissed her;
and then, if I were to perish, I cannot give a clear account of what
happened in the course of the next five minutes. She has since--through
tears, laughter, and trembling--told me that I turned terrible, and gave
myself to the demon. She says I left her, made one bound across the
room; that Mr. Sympson vanished through the door as if shot from a
cannon. I also vanished, and she heard Mrs. Gill scream.

"Mrs. Gill was still screaming when I came to my senses. I was then in
another apartment--the oak parlour, I think. I held Sympson before me
crushed into a chair, and my hand was on his cravat. His eyes rolled in
his head; I was strangling him, I think. The housekeeper stood wringing
her hands, entreating me to desist. I desisted that moment, and felt at
once as cool as stone. But I told Mrs. Gill to fetch the Red-House Inn
chaise instantly, and informed Mr. Sympson h