"
"Ah! 'Killed!' Killing is a favorite topic with you!" exclaimed General
Davenant, furiously; "well, kill _me_, now!--Strike your dastardly
sword, or _your knife_ if you have one, straight into my breast! Murder
me, I say, as you murdered George Conway!--I have a purse in my pocket,
and you can rob me when I am dead. Strike! strike!--but not with the
sword! That is the weapon of a gentleman. Draw your knife, and stab me
in the back--the knife is the weapon of the assassin!"
And crossing his arms upon his breast, the fiery old cavalier
confronted his son, with eyes full of bitter wrath and disdain--eyes
which I shall never forget; for their fire burnt them into my memory.
Darke did not dare to meet them. I had listened with amazement to those
words, which indicated that the Federal officer was General Davenant's
son; then this sentiment of astonishment, profound as it was, had
yielded to one of expectation, if I may so express myself. What I
expected was a furious outbreak from the man of fierce and violent
passions, thus taunted and driven to bay by the repeated insults of the
general. No outburst came, however. On the contrary, the Federal
officer bowed his head, and listened in silence, while a mortal pallor
diffused itself over his swarthy face. His gaze was bent upon the
ground, and his brows so closely knit that they extended in an unbroken
ridge of black and shaggy hair above his bloodshot eyes.
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