His present retainers were
more or less maimed from exposure to the fury of their master.
There was a strange cynicism, a cutting sarcasm in his address,
piercing through his polished manner. I thought of Timon, etc.,
etc.
One evening, we were sitting over our Chambertin, after a hard
day's work, and Guy was listlessly turning over some letters, when
suddenly he uttered a cry. Did you ever hear the trumpeting of a
wounded elephant? It was like that.
I looked at him with consternation. He was glancing at a letter
which he held at arm's length, and snorting, as it were, at it as
he gazed. The lower part of his face was stern, but not as rigid
as usual. He was slowly grinding between his teeth the fragments
of the glass he had just been drinking from. Suddenly he seized
one of his servants, and, forcing the wretch upon his knees,
exclaimed, with the roar of a tiger:--
"Dog! why was this kept from me?"
"Why, please, sir, Miss Flora said as how it was a reconciliation
from Miss Brandagee, and it was to be kept from you where you would
not be likely to see it,--and--and--"
"Speak, dog! and you--"
"I put it among your bills, sir!"
With a groan, like distant thunder, Guy fell swooning to the floor.
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