Temporarily she had the grip of Old Tom--was well aware, at least, of
his designs upon her purity, and superbly she combated him.
With proud and queenly air she drew on--Mr. Marrapit felt that the
swift suspicion which had taken him had misjudged her.
Mrs. Major reached the mat. Old Tom gave a playful little twitch of
her legs, and she jostled the doorpost.
With old-world courtesy she bowed apology to the post. "Beg pardon,"
she graciously murmured; stood swaying.
X.
Step by step with her as she had crossed the hall, Mr. Fletcher,
recovering from the coward fear in which he shivered outside the door,
had crept forward along the path around the house. As Mrs. Major stood
swaying upon the threshold of the dining-room he reached the angle;
peered round it; in horror sighted Bill's figure pendant from
Margaret's window.
Thrice the bell-mouth of his gun described a shivering circle; tightly
he squeezed his eyelids--pressed the trigger.
BANG!
Mr. Marrapit bounded six inches--hardly reached the earth again when,
with a startled scream, Mrs. Major was upon him, again her arms about
his neck.
And now shriek pursued shriek, tearing upwards through her throat. Old
Tom had loosed the ends of all her nerves. Like bolting rabbit in
young corn the tearing discharge of that gun went madly through them,
and lacerated she gave tongue.
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