Appears that I intrude," he exclaimed with a sudden flash which
declared his real purpose, "little Anna Gessner and the boy out of
Whitechapel making a match of it together--eh, what? Don't let's have
any rotten nonsense, old man. You're gone on the girl and you don't want
me here. Say so and be a man. You've played a low card on me and you
want to see the hand out. Isn't it that? Say so and be honest if you
can."

"It's a lie," retorted Alban, quietly--and then unable to restrain
himself he added quickly, "a groom's lie and you know it."

Forrest, sobered in a moment by the accusation, sprang up from his chair
as though stung by the lash of a whip.

"What's that," he cried, "what do you say?"

"That you are not the son of Sir John Forrest at all. Your real name is
Weston--your father was a jockey and you were born at Royston near
Cambridge. That's what I say. Answer it when you like--but not in this
house, for you won't have the opportunity. There's the door and that's
your road. Now step out before I make you."

He pointed to the open door and drew a little nearer to his slim
antagonist. Forrest, a smile still upon his face, stood for an instant
irresolute--then recovering himself, he threw the glass he held as
though it had been a ball, and the missile, striking Alban upon the
forehead, cut him as a knife would have done.

"You puppy, you gutter-snipe--I'll show you who I am. Wipe that off if
you can;" and then almost shouting, he cried, "Here, Anna, come down and
see what I've done to your little ewe lamb, come down and comfort
him--Anna, do you hear?"

He said no more, for Alban had him by the throat, leaping upon him with
the ferocity of a wild beast and carrying him headlong to the lawn
before the windows. Never in his life had such a paroxysm of anger
overtaken the boy or one which mastered him so utterly. Blindly he
struck; his blows rained upon the cowering face as though he would beat
it out of all recognition. He knew not wholly why he thus acted if not
upon some impulse which would avenge the wrongs good women had suffered
at the hands of such an impostor as this. When he desisted, the man lay
almost insensible upon the grass at his feet--and he, drawing apart,
felt the hot tears running down his face and could not restrain them.

For in a measure he felt that his very chivalry had been faithless to
one who had loved him well--and in the degradation of that violent scene
he recalled the spirit of t