“Had I dared!” he laughed ironically.  “I dare to tell you now to your face what all men say of you in your absence.  They believe you to be—­and rightly—­a conscienceless pirate.  You are a scathe and a blight; a pestilential ogre, drunk with self-worship.  When first I saw you, you were gloating over having bought lambs that you had never seen for seven dollars which you sold, still unseen, for ten.  Since then you have simply amplified, on the scale of a Colossus, that single cheap ideal.  You have exalted vandalism and rechristened it Conquest.”

Hamilton Burton’s face worked in a paroxysm of wrath and his words hurled out fury to meet fury.

“By Almighty God!  I have listened to your damned insolence.  Now you shall listen to me!  I had meant to retire soon from the world of active business.  I was almost satisfied.  You have altered my plans.  Just once again I shall return to the arena and I shall never leave it again, until I have accomplished my single purpose.”  He halted with eyes burning like those of a maniac, and the fever of passion shaking him.  Words poured torrent-wise.

“I will go back into the Street.  If need be I will tumble the entire structure of finance into ruins, but under it I will bury you!  I will bury you deep beyond salvation!  As there is a God in heaven, I will do that.  I will neither rest nor abate my warfare until I have utterly ruined you!  You and your self-righteous virtue shall become a jest to the world.  From now on until you walk the streets, disgraced and penniless, I wholly dedicate myself to your destruction!”

He paused, panting, and wild of glance, with his fists clenched and his temples pulsing, and when he fell silent, Edwardes spoke slowly, almost as in soliloquy:  “I was not mistaken in you.  You are the pirate and no more.  I will not call your boast empty.  I have seen your power.  You are willing to bury in general ruin all those innocent persons whom you must overthrow before you can reach me.  Very well, you will find me fighting when you come after me.”

“I am after you now,” shouted the other.  “I would wreck all New York to smash you.  To me it will be worth the price, and, by God, I’ll do it!”

Edwardes turned and held out his hand to Mary Burton.  “Good-night, dear,” he said.  His voice was weary and, as he looked at her, a deep shadow of longing crossed his face.

“Wait!” she commanded—­in a tone which neither of them had ever heard before, “I am going with you.”

CHAPTER XIX

Mary Burton’s usually colorful cheeks were now as pale as ivory.  Her attitude and expression declared a total dedication to one idea:  war upon the brother who could see in her entire future only a house of cards to be swept down because it had not been reared in harmony with his requirements.  As she took a step toward the door Hamilton stepped between, barring her way.  His outburst of infuriated words had left him breathing fast, and he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it across his brow.