But his words had now raised a corresponding fury on the other side of
that boundary wall. Richard Bassett, stung with rage, and, unlike his
high-bred cousin, accustomed to mix cunning even with his fury, gave
him a terrible blow--a very _coup de Jarnac._ He spoke _at_ him; he ran
forward to the nurse, and said very loud: "Let me see the little
darling. He does you credit. What fat cheeks!--what arms!--an infant
hercules! There, take him up the mound. Now lift him in your arms, and
let him see his inheritance. Higher, nurse, higher. Ay, crow away,
youngster; all that is yours--house and land and all. They may steal
the trees; they can't make away with the broad acres. Ha! I believe he
understands every word, nurse. See how he smiles and crows."
At the sound of Bassett's voice Sir Charles started, and, at the first
taunt, he uttered something between a moan and a roar, as of a wounded
lion.
"Come away," cried Lady Bassett. "He is doing it on purpose."
But the stabs came too fast. Sir Charles shook her off, and looked
wildly round for a weapon to strike his insulter with.
"Curse him and his brat!" he cried. "They shall neither of them--I'll
kill them both."
He sprang fiercely at the wall, and, notwithstanding his weakly
condition, raised himself above it, and glared over with a face so full
of fury that Richard Bassett recoiled in dismay for a moment, and said,
"Run! run! He'll hurt the child!"
But, the next moment, Sir Charles's hands lost their power; he uttered
a miserable moan, and fell gasping under the wall in an epileptic fit,
with all the terrible symptoms I have described in a previous portion
of this story.
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