"It's no use, Orme," I said to him, finally. "I can wring your neck, or
break your back, or twist your arms off, and by God! I've a notion to do
them all. If you make any attempt to get away I'm going to kill you. Now
come along."
I shoved him ahead of me, his arms pinioned, until we found a seat far
away in a dark portion of the great front yard. Here I pushed him down
and took the other end of the seat, covering him with his own pistol.
"Now," I demanded, "tell me what you are doing here."
"You have your privilege at guessing," he sneered, in his easy, mocking
way. "Have you never taken a little adventure of this sort yourself?"
"Ah, some servant girl--at your host's house. Excellent adventure. But
this is your last one," I said to him.
"Is it so," he sneered. "Then let me make my prayers!" He mocked at me,
and had no fear of me whatever.
"In Virginia we keep the shotgun for men who prowl around houses at
night. What are you doing here?"
"You have no right to ask. It is not your house."
"There was a light," said I. "For that reason I have a right to ask. I
am a guest, and a guest has duties as well as a host."
A certain change in mood seized him.
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