The sneering mockery of the last taunt was too much for the fiery young prince of Kingsland.  With the yell of an enraged tiger he sprung upon Mr. Parmalee, hurled him to the ground in a twinkling, and twisted his left hand into Mr. Parmalee’s blue cotton neckerchief, showering blows with his right fast and furious.

The attack was so swift and savage that Mr. Parmalee lay perfectly stunned and helpless, turning unpleasantly black in the face, his eyes staring, the blood gushing.

Kneeling on his fallen foe, with fiery face and distended eyes, Sir Everard looked for the moment an incarnate young demon.  It flashed upon him, swift as lightning, in his sudden madness, what he was about.

“I’ll murder him if I stay here,” he thought; and as the thought crossed his mind, with a shriek and a swish of silk, in rushed Miss Silver and flung herself between them.

“Good Heaven!  Sir Everard, have you gone mad?  In mercy’s name, stop before you have quite murdered him!”

“Dog—­cur!” he cried.  “Get up and quit my house, or, by the living light above us, I’ll blow your brains out as I would a mad hound’s!”

He swung round and strode out of the picture-gallery, and slowly, slowly arose the prostrate hero, with bloody face and blackened eyes.

“Get up, Mr. Parmalee,” she said, “and go away at once.  The woman at the lodge will give you soap and water and a towel, and you can make yourself decent before entering the village.  If you don’t hurry you’ll need a guide.  Your eyes are as large as bishop pippins, and closing fast now.”

She nearly laughed again, as she assisted her slaughtered betrothed to his feet Mr. Parmalee wiped the blood out of his eyes and looked dizzily about him.

“Where is he?” he gasped.

“Sir Everard?  He has gone, I believe he would have killed you outright only I came in and tore him off.  What on earth did you say to infuriate him so?”

“I say?” exclaimed the artist, fiercely.  “I said nothing, and you know it.  It was you, you confounded Delilah, you mischief-making deceiver, who showed him that air note!”

“I protest I did nothing of the sort!” cried Sybilla, indignantly.  “He was in my lady’s room when I entered, and he saw the note in my hand.  She was asleep, and I tried to escape and take the note with me, but he ordered me to leave it and go.  Of course I had to obey.  If he read it, it was no fault of mine; but I don’t believe he did.  You have no right to blame me, Mr. Parmalee.”

“I’ll be even with him for this, the insulting young aristocrat!  I’ll not spare him now!  I’ll spread the news far and wide; the very birds in the trees shall sing it, the story of his wife’s shame!  I’ll lower that cursed pride of his before another month is over his head, and I’ll have his handsome wife on her knees to me, as sure as my name’s Parmalee!  He knocked me down, and he beat me to a jelly, did he? and he ordered me out of his house; and he’ll shoot me like a mad dog, will he?  But I’ll be even with him; I’ll fix him off!  I’ll make him repent the day he ever lifted his hand to G. W. Parmalee!”