"You love her?--you?--you?" he panted.
"Yes," I answered, flinging him off so that he staggered; "yes
--yes! I--who fought for her once, and am willing--most willing,
to do so again, now or at any other time, for, though I hold no
hope of winning her--ever--yet I can serve her still, and protect
her from the pollution of your presence," and I clenched my
fists.
He stood poised as though about to spring at me, and I saw his
knuckles gleam whiter than the laces above them, but, all at
once, he laughed lightly, easily as ever.
"A very perfect, gentle knight!" he murmured, "sans peur et sans
reproche--though somewhat grimy and in a leather apron. Chivalry
kneeling amid hammers and horseshoes, worshiping Her with a
reverence distant and lowly! How like you, worthy cousin, how
very like yon, and how affecting! But"--and here his nostrils
quivered again--" but I tell you--she is mine--mine, and always
has been, and no man living shall come between us--no, by God!"
"That," said I, "that remains to be seen!"
"Ha?"
"Though, indeed, I think she is safe from you while I live."
"But then, Cousin Peter, life is a very uncertain thing at best,"
he returned, glancing at me beneath his drooping lids.
"Yes," I nodded, "it is sometimes a blessing to remember that."
Sir Maurice strolled to the door, and, being there, paused, and
looked back over his shoulder.
"I go to find Charmian," said he, "and I shall find her--sooner
or later, and, when I do, should you take it upon yourself to
--come between us again, or presume to interfere again, I shall
--kill you, worthy cousin, without the least compunction. If
you think this sufficient warning--act upon it, if not--" He
shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Farewell, good and worthy
Cousin Peter, farewell!--or shall we say--'au revoir'?"