"No, by God!" cried Barrymaine in a sudden, wild fury, "I-I'll
sh-shoot him first!"
"Kill him?"
"Yes, k-kill him!"
"Oh no you won't, Ronald, for two reasons. First of all, it would be
murder--!"
"Murder!" Barrymaine repeated, "so it would--murder! Yes, by God!"
"And secondly, you haven't the nerve. Though he has clandestine
meetings with your sister, though he crush you into the mud, trample
you under his feet, throw you into a debtor's prison to rot out your
days--though he ruin you body and soul, and compromise your sister's
honor--still you'd never--murder him, Ronald, you couldn't, you
haven't the heart, because it would be--murder!"
Mr. Chichester's voice was low, yet each incisive, quick-spoken word
reached Barnabas, while upon Barrymaine their effect was demoniac.
Dropping his pistol-case, he threw up wild arms and shook his
clenched fists in the air.
"Damn him!" he cried, "damn him! B-bury me in a debtor's prison,
will he? Foul my sister's honor w-will he? Never! never! I tell you
I'll kill him first!"
"Murder him, Ronald?"
"Murder? I t-tell you it's no murder to kill his sort. G-give me the
pistols."
"Hush! Come into the barn."
"No. W-what for?"
"Well, the time is getting on, Ronald,--nearly seven o'clock, and
your ardent lovers are usually before their time. Come into the barn."
"N-no,--devilish dark hole!"
"But--he'll see you here!"
"What if he does, can't g-get away from me,--better f-for it out
here--lighter."
"What do you mean? Better--for what?"
"The m-meeting."
"What--you mean to try and make him fight, do you?"
"Of course--try that way first. Give him a ch-chance, you know,
--c-can't shoot him down on s-sight."
"Ah-h!" said Mr. Chichester, very slowly, "you can't shoot him on
sight--of course you can't. I see."
"What? W-what d'ye see? Devilish dark hole in there!"
"All the better, Ronald,--think of his surprise when instead of
finding an armful of warm loveliness waiting for him in the shadows,
he finds the avenging brother! Come into the shadows, Ronald."
"All right,--yes, the shadow. Instead of the sister, the
b-brother--yes, by God!"
Now the flooring of the loft where Barnabas lay was full of wide
cracks and fissures, for the boards had warped by reason of many
years of rain and sun; thus, lying at full length, Barnabas saw
them below, Barrymaine leaning against the crumbling wall, while
Mr. Chichester stooped above the open duelling-case.
"What--they're loaded are they?" said he.
"Of c-course!"
"They're handsome tools, Ronald, and with your monogram, I see!"
"Yes. Is your f-flask empty, Chichester?"
"No, I think not," answered Mr. Chichester, still stooping above the
pistol in his hand.
"Then give it me, will you--m-my throat's on fire."
"Surely you 've had enough, Ronald? Did you know this flint was loose?"