He threw fresh logs on the blaze,
and took from the tall mantelshelf his pipe and a leaden jar of tobacco.
He filled the pipe pensively, then with the short iron tongs seized a
fragment of glowing wood and applied it to the herb.
He returned to the table, and standing over his brother, he broke at
last the silence that had now endured some time.
"What," he asked gruffly, "was the cause of your quarrel?"
Lionel started and shrank a little; between finger and thumb he kneaded
a fragment of bread, his eyes upon it. "I scarce know," he replied.
"Lal, that is not the truth."
"How?"
"'Tis not the truth. I am not to be put off with such an answer.
Yourself you said that you had warned him not to cross your path. What
path was in your mind?"
Lionel leaned his elbows on the table and took his head in his hands.
Weak from loss of blood, overwrought mentally as well, in a state of
revulsion and reaction also from the pursuit which had been the cause of
to-night's tragic affair, he had not strength to withhold the confidence
his brother asked. On the contrary, it seemed to him that in making
such a confidence, he would find a haven and refuge in Sir Oliver.
"'Twas that wanton at Malpas was the cause of all," he complained. And
Sir Oliver's eye flashed at the words. "I deemed her quite other; I was
a fool, a fool! I"--he choked, and a sob shook him--"I thought she
loved me. I would have married her, I would so, by God.
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