“Say now, Hermy,” he went on, and his voice grew almost wheedling, “there was a guy here the other night—­a stranger, I guess—­one o’ these tired, sleepy guys—­one o’ the reg’lar soft-talkin’ nancy-boys—­who is he?” Hermione only sighed wearily, whereat his voice grew hoarse with passion, and he questioned her fiercely:  “Who is he, eh—­who is he?  What was he doin’ around here, anyway?  Well, can’t ye talk?  Can’t ye speak?”

Hermione only looked at him, and before those calm, fearless eyes, M’Ginnis burned in a wild yet impotent rage.

“Won’t talk, hey?” he questioned between grinding teeth.  “Well, now, see here, Hermy.  If you let this guy come any love business with you behind me back, it’ll be his finish—­an’ he can blame you for it!  An’ see here again—­watch out for young Arthur.  Oh!” he cried, seeing her flinch, “you think you’ve got the Kid tied to ye, you think you’ve got him, I guess—­but you ain’t!  I’ve got him—­right here!” and holding out his hand, M’Ginnis slowly clenched it into a fist.  “I’ve got th’ Kid, see—­an’ he’s goin’ th’ way I want him—­he’s got to, see?”

“Ah!” she cried, her scorn and fearless pride shattered to trembling pleading at last.  “What do you mean—­oh, what do you mean?”

“I mean as I want ye, an’ I’m goin’ to have ye!” he answered.  “I mean that instead of ‘no’ you’re goin’ t’ give me ‘yes’—­for th’ Kid’s sake!”

“What do you—­mean?” she said again between quivering lips, her eyes full of a growing terror.

“Mean?” he continued relentlessly, viewing her trembling loveliness with hungry eyes.  “Well—­that’s what I mean!” and he pointed to the broken flask upon the floor.  “If you want t’ see it in his face more an’ more, if you want t’ smell it in his breath—­say ‘No!’ If you want t’ see his hands begin t’ shake, if you want t’ hear his foot come stumbling up th’ stair—­say ‘No!’ I guess you remember what it’s like—­you’ve seen it all before.  Well, if ye want Arthur t’ grow into what his drunken father was before him—­say ‘No!’”

“Go away!” she moaned, “go away!”

“Oh, I’ll go, but first I’ll tell you this—­”

“I think not, Mr. Flowers—­no, I’m sure you won’t!”

Ravenslee’s voice was soft and pleasant as usual, but before the burning ferocity of his eyes, the merciless line of that grim, implacable mouth, before all the hush and deadly purpose of him, the loud hectoring of M’Ginnis seemed a thing of no account.  Beholding his pale, set face Hermione, sighing deeply, shrank away; even M’Ginnis blenched as, very slowly, Ravenslee approached him, speaking softly the while.

“Get out, Mr. Flowers, get out!  Don’t say another word—­no, not one, if only because of ‘that dog-gone fool Heine!’ Now go, or so help me God, this time—­I’ll kill you!”

Hermione leaned her trembling body against the table for support.  And yet—­could it be fear that had waked this new glory in her eyes, had brought this glowing colour to her cheek, had made her sweet breath pant and hurry so—­fear?