The Lion's Skin by Rafael Sabatini Read Free Book Online

sword was wrenched from fingers that held it lightly, unprepared
for this.
    "You dog!" said the lady's voice, strident now with anger and disdain. She had his sword.
    He faced about with a horrible oath. Mr. Caryll conceived that he was becoming a thought disgusting.
    Hoofs and wheels ground on the cobbles of the yard and came to a halt outside, but went unheeded in the excitement of the moment. Rotherby stood facing her, she facing him, the sword in her hand
and a look in her eyes that promised she would use it upon him did he urge her.
    A moment thus—of utter, breathless silence. Then, as if her passion mounted and swept all aside, she raised the sword, and using it as a whip, she lashed him with it until at the third
blow it rebounded to the table and was snapped. Instinctively his lordship had put up his hands to save his face, and across one of them a red line grew and grew and oozed forth blood which spread
to envelop it.
    Gaskell advanced with a sharp cry of concern. But Rotherby waved him back, and the gesture shook blood from his hand like raindrops. His face was livid; his eyes were upon the woman he had gone
so near betraying with a look that none might read. Jenkins swayed, sickly, against the table, whilst Mr. Caryll observed all with a critical eye and came to the conclusion that she must have loved
this villain.
    The hilt and stump of sword clattered in the fireplace, whither she hurled it. A moment she caught her face in her hands, and a sob shook her almost fiercely. Then she came past his lordship,
across the room to Mr. Caryll, Rotherby making no shift to detain her.
    "Take me away, sir! Take me away," she begged him.
    Mr. Caryll's gloomy face lightened suddenly. "Your servant, ma'am," said he, and made her a bow. "I think you are very well advised," he added cheerfully and offered her his arm. She took it,
and moved a step or two toward the door. It opened at that moment, and a burly, elderly man came in heavily.
    The lady halted, a cry escaped her—a cry of pain almost—and she fell to weeping there and then. Mr. Caryll was very mystified.
    The newcomer paused at the sight that met him, considered it with a dull blue eye, and, for all that he looked stupid, it seemed he had wit enough to take in the situation.
    "So!" said he, with heavy mockery. "I might have spared myself the trouble of coming after you. For it seems that she has found you out in time, you villain!"
    Rotherby turned sharply at that voice. He fell back a step, his brow seeming to grow blacker than it had been. "Father!" he exclaimed; but there was little that was filial in the accent.
    Mr. Caryll staggered and recovered himself. It had been indeed a staggering shock; for here, of course, was his own father, too.
     
    CHAPTER IV
    MR. GREEN
    THERE was a quick patter of feet, the rustle of a hooped petticoat, and the lady was in the arms of my Lord Ostermore.
    "Forgive me, my lord!" she was crying. "Oh, forgive me! I was a little fool, and I have been punished enough already!"
    To Mr. Caryll this was a surprising development. The earl, whose arms seemed to have opened readily enough to receive her, was patting her soothingly upon the shoulder. "Pish! What's this?
What's this?" he grumbled; yet his voice, Mr. Caryll noticed, was if anything kindly; but it must be confessed that it was a dull, gruff voice, seldom indicating any shade of emotion,
unless—as sometimes happened—it was raised in anger. He was frowning now upon his son over the girl's head, his bushy, grizzled brows contracted.
    Mr. Caryll observed—and with what interest you should well imagine—that Lord Ostermore was still in a general way a handsome man. Of a good height, but slightly excessive bulk, he
had a face that still retained a fair shape. Short-necked, florid and plethoric, he had the air of the man who seldom makes a long illness at the end. His eyes were very blue, and the lids were
puffed and heavy, whilst the mouth, Mr. Caryll remarked in a