But at this moment Sir Charles broke out in a sort of dry, business-like voice, “I'll kill the viper and his brood!” Then he stared at Mr. Angelo, and could not make him out at first. “Ah!” said he, complacently, “this is my private tutor: a man of learning. I read Homer with him; but I have forgotten it, all but one line--
“That's a beautiful verse. Homer, old boy, I'll take your advice. I'll kill the heir at law, and his brat as well, and when they are dead and well seasoned I'll sell them to that old timber-merchant, the devil, to make hell hotter. Order my horse, somebody, this minute!”
During this tirade Lady Bassett's hands kept clutching, as if to stop it, and her eyes filled with horror.
Mr. Angelo came again to her rescue. He affected to take it all as a matter of course, and told the servants they need not wait, Sir Charles was coming to himself by degrees, and the danger was all over.
But when the servants were gone he said to Lady Bassett, seriously, “I would not let any servant be about Sir Charles, except this one. She is evidently attached to you. Suppose we take him to his own room.”
He then made Mary Wells a signal, and they carried him upstairs.
Sir Charles talked all the while with pitiable vehemence. Indeed, it was a continuous babble, like a brook.
Mary Wells was taking him into his own room, but Lady Bassett said, “No: into my room. Oh, I will never let him out of my sight again.”
Then they carried him into Lady Bassett's bedroom, and laid him gently down on a couch there.
He looked round, observed the locality, and uttered a little sigh of complacency. He left off talking for the present, and seemed to doze.
The place which exerted this soothing influence on Sir Charles had a contrary and strange effect on Mr. Angelo.
It was of palatial size, and lighted by two side windows, and an oriel window at the end. The delicate stone shafts and mullions were such as are oftener seen in cathedrals than in mansions. The deep embrasure was filled with beautiful flowers and luscious exotic leaf-plants from the hot-houses. The floor was of polished oak, and some feet of this were left bare on all sides of the great Aubusson carpet made expressly for the room. By this means cleanliness penetrated into every corner: the oak was not only cleaned, but polished like a mirror. The curtains were French chintzes, of substance, and exquisite patterns, and very voluminous. On the walls was a delicate rose-tinted satin paper, to which French art, unrivaled in these matters, had given the appearance of being stuffed, padded, and divided into a thousand cozy pillows, by gold-headed nails.