University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.
SHOWING TO WHAT USE A LOAF OF BREAD MAY BE PUT.

The young man entered grasping his sword—which he had
drawn half from the scabbard.

“Ah!” he said, with a deep sigh of relief: then turning
upon Beatrice, he said: “I have to thank you, madam, for
robbing me of my visitor!”

And his haughty eye flashed, as he put his arm round
Kate, and drew her away. Beatrice made no reply—but
Kate cried out.

“Oh! cousin Champ! Don't speak so to her! She
was so good to me.”

“Good to you, Kate! What do you mean?”

“Those horrid men! Oh, they frightened me so!”

Mr. Effingham looked from one to the other, to ask an
explanation.

“What men?” he said.

“The men that came into your room.”

“Men in my room! Who?”

“I don't know, indeed, cousin Champ, but they behaved
very badly to me.”

“Behaved badly to you!” said Mr. Effingham, his brow
flushing with haughty fire.

“Oh, it was nothing,” said the child, becoming alarmed
at the storm she had aroused, “they only frightened me a
little!”

Suddenly Mr. Effingham looked at the child's hair still
disordered and rumpled—for the worthy Shylock, in pulling
away her hat, had naturally dragged the well-brushed hair
from its place. Mr. Effingham observed this at a glance,
and said, with a flashing eye:

“Where is your hat, Kate?”

Beatrice rose.

“I can tell you what has taken place in a moment, sir,'
she said, calmly; “it is nothing more than happens almost
every day—only disgraceful, you know, sir. Mr. Pugsby
annoyed your young relative, and the child came to my apartment
for refuge. I gave it to her, that is all; and now,
sir—”

Mr. Effingham did not wait to hear the end of the sentence.
His eye burned fiercely, and hurrying out with the
child, he said, hastily:

“Come, Katy, let us go to the carriage: I must put
you in: I can't go to-day to the Hall. Ah, when you are
once safe, we'll have a settlement—”

“But my hat, cousin Champ?” said Kate. Mr. Effingham's
teeth ground audibly, but before he could make a
reply, a voice behind him, loud and familiar, said:

“Here's your beauty's hat—where the devil are you
going—”

It was Shylock, who came along the passage behind, and
turning, Mr. Effingham saw the child's hat in his hand. A
flash as of lightning blazed from the young man's eye, and
to abandon Kate's hand, throw himself upon the leering
worthy, clutch him by the throat, and hurl him headlong
from the landing-place to the bottom of the stairs, was
the agreeable employment of a single moment. But this
did not satisfy Mr. Effingham's rage; and motioning the
child to remain behind, he sprung down the steps, and arriving
at the bottom just as Shylock, in a violent rage, rose
up, he shouted wrathfully:

“Draw, you dog! draw! you wear a sword! Damn my
blood, I'll have your heart's blood!”

And drawing his sword, the young man would have plunged
it into Shylock's breast, had not the jolly host thrown himself
between the combatants and received the thrust in a huge
loaf of bread he was lugging into his larder. This incident
so far delayed further employment of the weapon, which had
completely passed through it to the hilt. The crowd then
parted the infuriated combatants, and this consummation was
one for which Shylock seemed devoutly grateful. Having
only frightened the child for fun, as that worthy said, afterwards,

Mr. Effingham's sudden attack upon him had taken
him completely by surprise: and his blood had scarcely
time to rise. So it was they were parted, and Shylock, muttering
curses and threats of vengeance, retreated to his apartment.
Mr. Effingham, with insulting disdain, called after him
that he should have an opportunity to right his wrongs at
the sword's point, though he might be excused from matching
himself against such a cowardly villain; and so this little
interlude ended.

Kate, sobbing and agitated, had put on her little hat,
and now, with Mr. Effingham's hand in her own, left the
inn. At the threshold they ran against Master Will, who,
breathless, his face flushed, his mouth open, was running to
ask if any one at the Raleigh had seen Kate.

“Here I am, Willie,” said the child; “I'm not crying,
you know—only laughing.”

And Kate, after this abortive effort to show that nothing
had happened, burst into a passion of tears. Mr. Effingham,
with a short and curt greeting to Will, went on to the place
where the carriage stood, and placed the child in it. Miss
Alethea had felt much less anxiety about Kate than Will,
and was still making her purchases. Will ran in to tell her
that Kate was found.

Mr. Effingham was going away in silence, after pressing
the child's hand, when, sobbing, she said:

“Oh, won't you kiss me? you are not angry with me,
cousin Champ!”

And tears choked the tender, distressed voice—deep
sighs shook the little frame of the child. Mr. Effingham
bent over toward her, but, suddenly resuming his erect
attitude, said, gloomily:

“No, no, Katy; I cannot kiss you. No; do not think
of me in future; and never come near the Raleigh again.
Have you your Bible?”

“I believe so,” sobbed Kate.

“Good,” he said, in the same quiet, gloomy voice; “I
will love you dearly as long as I live, but I can see you no
more. Good-bye,” and, turning away, he muttered,

“The die is cast!”