The Wild Geese. Weyman Stanley John
old Sir Michael's will then, and I might die in a gutter, for you! But an egg, and an egg's fair sharing."
"Have I said it was any other?" Asgill asked gloomily.
"The old place is mine, and I'm minded to keep it."
"And if any other marries her," Asgill said quietly, "he will want her rights."
"Well, and do you think," the younger man answered in his ugliest manner, "that if it weren't for that small fact, Mister Asgill – "
"And the small fact," Asgill struck in, "that before your grandfather died I lent you a clear five hundred, and I'm to take that, that's my own already, in quittance of all!"
"Well, and wasn't it that same I'm saying?" The McMurrough retorted. "If it weren't for that, and the bargain we've struck, d'you think that I'd be letting my sister and a McMurrough look at the likes of you? No, not in as many Midsummer Days as are between this and world without end!"
The look Asgill shot at him would have made a wiser man tremble. But The McMurrough knew the strength of his position.
"And if I were to tell her?" Asgill said slowly.
"What?"
"That we've made a bargain about her."
"It's the last strand of hope you'd be breaking, my man," the younger man answered briskly. "For you'd lose my help, and she'd not believe you – though every priest in Douai backed your word!"
Asgill knew that that was true, and though his face grew dark he changed his tone. "Enough said," he replied pacifically. "Where'll we be if we quarrel? You want the old place that is yours by right. And I want – your sister." He swallowed something as he named her; even his tone was different. "'Tis one and one. That's all."
"And you're the one who wants the most," James replied cunningly. "Asgill, my man, you'd give your soul for her, I'm thinking."
"I would."
"You would, I believe. By G – d," he continued, with a leer, "you're that fond of her I'll have to look to her! Hang me, my friend, if I let her be alone with you after this. Safe bind, safe find. Women and fruit are easily bruised."
Asgill rose slowly to his feet. "You scoundrel!" he said in a low tone. And it was only when The McMurrough, surprised by his movement, turned to him, that the young man saw that his face was black with passion – saw, indeed, a face so menacing, that he also sprang to his feet. "You scoundrel!" Asgill repeated, choking on the words. "If you say a thing like that again – if you say it again, do you hear? – I'll do you a mischief. Do you hear? Do you hear?"
"What in the saints' names is the matter with you?" The McMurrough faltered.
"You're not fit to breathe the air she breathes!" Asgill continued, with the same ferocity. "Nor am I! But I know it, thank God! And you don't! Why, man," he continued, still fighting with the passion that possessed him, "I wouldn't dare to touch the hem of her gown without her leave! I wouldn't dare to look in her face if she bade me not! She's as safe with me as if she were an angel in heaven! And you say – you; but you don't understand!"
"Faith and I don't," The McMurrough answered, his tone much lowered. "That's true for you!" When it came to a collision of wills the other was his master.
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