But he had suffered the indignity of being flung like a bag of bones across the room, and the microbe of insane revenge was in him.

It was not to be killed by the cold humour of the man who had worsted him.

He returned to the attack.
"She is mine, and her father knows it is so.

I have waited all these years, and the hour has come.

I will--" Ingolby's eyes became hard and merciless again.