Penelope, flushed with disgust and humiliation, drew near a crowd of
men and women in the long living-room. Her brother was haranguing the
assemblage, standing forth among them like an unconquered bantam. In
spite of herself, she felt a wave of shame and pity creep over her as
she looked at him.
"Barminster says the fellow ran when he saw him to-day," his lordship
was saying. "But that doesn't help matters. He had been on my land
again and again, Tompkins says, and Tompkins ought to know."
"And James, too," said the duke with a brandied roar.
"Can't Tompkins and his men keep that man off my land?" demanded Lady
Bazelhurst. Every one took note of the pronoun. Her ladyship's temples
seemed to narrow with hatred. Bazelhurst had told the men privately
that she was passing sleepless nights in order to "hate that fellow
Shaw" to her full capacity.
"My dear, I have given positive orders to Tompkins and he swears he'll
carry them out," said he hastily.
"I suppose Tompkins is to throw him into the river again."
"He is to shoot that fellow Shaw if he doesn't keep off our land. I've
had enough of it. They say he rode his confounded plough horse all
over the west end the other day." Penelope smiled reflectively.
"Trampled the new fern beds out of existence and all that. Hang him,
Tompkins will get him if he persists. He has told the men to take a
shot at the rascal on sight. Tompkins doesn't love him, you know."
Penelope went her way laughing and--forgot the danger that threatened
Randolph Shaw.
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