Cashel Byron's Profession

When Cashel gave him the lie, and pushed the door against him, the

excitement he had been suppressing since his visit to Lucian

exploded. He had thrown Cashel in Cornish fashion, and now

desperately awaited the upshot.

Cashel got up so rapidly that he seemed to rebound from the flags.

Bashville, involuntarily cowering before his onslaught, just escaped

his right fist, and felt as though his heart had been drawn with it

as it whizzed past his ear. He turned and fled frantically

up-stairs, mistaking for the clatter of pursuit the noise with which

Cashel, overbalanced by his ineffectual blow, stumbled against the

banisters.

Lydia was in her boudoir with Alice when Bashville darted in and

locked the door. Alice rose and screamed. Lydia, though startled,

and that less by the unusual action than by the change in a familiar

face which she had never seen influenced by emotion before, sat

still and quietly asked what was the matter. Bashville checked

himself for a moment. Then he spoke unintelligibly, and went to the

window, which he opened. Lydia divined that he was about to call for

help to the street.

"Bashville," she said, authoritatively: "be silent, and close the

window. I will go down-stairs myself."

Bashville then ran to prevent her from unlocking the door; but she

paid no attention to him. He did not dare to oppose her forcibly. He

was beginning to recover from his panic, and to feel the first

stings of shame for having yielded to it.

"Madam," he said: "Byron is below; and he insists on seeing you.

He's dangerous; and he's too strong for me. I have done my best--on

my honor I have. Let me call the police. Stop," he added, as she

opened the door. "If either of us goes, it must be me."

"I will see him in the library," said Lydia, composedly. "Tell him

so; and let him wait there for me--if you can approach him without

running any risk."

"Oh, pray let him call the police," urged Alice. "Don't attempt to

go to that man."

"Nonsense!" said Lydia, good-humoredly. "I am not in the least

afraid. We must not fail in courage when we have a prize-fighter to

deal with."

Bashville, white, and preventing with difficulty his knees from

knocking together, went down-stairs and found Cashel leaning upon

the balustrade, panting, and looking perplexedly about him as he

wiped his dabbled brow. Bashville approached him with the firmness

of a martyr, halted on the third stair, and said, "Miss Carew will see you in the library. Come this way, please."