"The injuries are not grave, they tell me.

I am so sorry that I never watched his fencing, but--" The old man had not recognized him till he heard his voice, and he waved him off with a fierce, contemptuous gesture; the grief for his favorite's danger, the wild terrors that his fears had conjured up, his almost frantic agony at the sight of the accident, had lashed him into passion well-nigh delirious.
"Out of my sight, sir," he said fiercely, his mellow tones quivering with rage.

"I wish to God you had been dead in a ditch before a hair of my boy's had been touched.

You live, and he lies dying there!" Cecil bowed in silence; the brutality of the words wounded, but they did not offend him, for he knew his father was in that moment scarce better than a maniac, and he was touched with the haggard misery upon the old Peer's face.
"Out of my sight, sir," re-echoed Lord Royallieu as he strode forward, passion lending vigor to his emaciated frame, while the dignity of his grand carriage blent with the furious force of his infuriated blindness.
"If you had had the heart of a man, you would have saved such a child as that from his peril; warned him, watched him, succored him at least when he fell.

Instead of that, you ride on and leave him to die, if death comes to him! You are safe, you are always safe.