Vaughan, somewhat sobered by the strangeness of the brothers' aspect, remembered something.
"Yes, but you're not going up to her. You'll let her alone."
"He won't hurt her," said Renny.
"He's not to go up. I promised her."
He took the youth's arm, but Piers wrenched himself away.
"I order you!" shouted Vaughan. "Whose house is this? Whose daughter is she? She's left you. Very well—let her stay. I want her."
"She is my wife. I'm going to her."
"What the hell's the matter, anyway? I don't know what it's all about. She comes here—done up—frightened out of her wits—I remember now. Then you come like a pair of murderers."
"I must see her."
"You shall not see her." Again he clutched Piers's arm. The two struggled beneath the sinister head of the great moose, under the massive antlers of which their manhood seemed weak and futile.
In a moment Piers had freed himself and was springing up the stairs.
"Come into the dining room, Maurice," said Renny, "and I'll tell you what is wrong. Did she tell you nothing?"
Maurice followed him, growling: "A strange way to act in a man's house at this hour."
"Did she tell you nothing?" asked Renny, when they were in the dining room.
"I don't remember what she said." He picked up the decanter. "Have a drink."
"No, nor you either." He took the decanter from his friend and put it in the sideboard, decisively locking the door.
