Ask her, Sir Everard, and if she's willing to tell you, I'm sartin I am.

But I don't think she will, by gosh!" The sneering mockery of the last taunt was too much for the fiery young prince of Kingsland.

With the yell of an enraged tiger he sprung upon Mr.Parmalee, hurled him to the ground in a twinkling, and twisted his left hand into Mr.Parmalee's blue cotton neckerchief, showering blows with his right fast and furious.
The attack was so swift and savage that Mr.Parmalee lay perfectly stunned and helpless, turning unpleasantly black in the face, his eyes staring, the blood gushing.
Kneeling on his fallen foe, with fiery face and distended eyes, Sir Everard looked for the moment an incarnate young demon.

It flashed upon him, swift as lightning, in his sudden madness, what he was about.
"I'll murder him if I stay here," he thought; and as the thought crossed his mind, with a shriek and a swish of silk, in rushed Miss Silver and flung herself between them.
"Good Heaven! Sir Everard, have you gone mad?
In mercy's name, stop before you have quite murdered him!" "Dog--cur!" he cried.

"Get up and quit my house, or, by the living light above us, I'll blow your brains out as I would a mad hound's!" He swung round and strode out of the picture-gallery, and slowly, slowly arose the prostrate hero, with bloody face and blackened eyes.
"Get up, Mr.Parmalee," she said, "and go away at once.