"Go away, it will be better for you," declared Ben Hay.
"Come out here, Hay, and fight like a man! Don't skulk behind a woman's petticoats!"
There was a terrific onslaught at the door. It creaked and groaned, and was succeeded by a volley of oaths and imprecations. Rose began to cry, and the youngest girl came screaming down the stairs.
Darcy had sent a man out of the back way for policemen. Hay and the two other men mounted guard. Again the door shivered and creaked: then it flew open, bolts, locks, and hinges having given way in a mass of splinters.
Like a flash the men were on their assailants. The mob had not expected this. Right and left valorous blows were dealt, and two or three burly fellows were laid low. Some nearer sober, and more cowardly, took to their heels. Two men fought like tigers; and once Ben Hay came near getting the worst; but, by the time the dilatory guards of peace arrived, there was only a pile of bruised and battered bodies lying on the door-step.
"A pretty tough scrimmage!" was the comment. "Weren't you a little hard on these fellows?"
"A man has a right to defend his own life and his own nose," said Ben Hay decisively. "His life may be useful, his nose is ornamental when it is a handsome one like mine."
What with drunkenness and the drubbing, two of the ruffians were unable to walk. Two others were marched off under the escort of the officers, the disabled sent for, and a guard detached to protect Mrs. Connelly's house. When everybody had been quieted, Jack took a tour down to the mills. Some poor object was huddled up in the corner of the main stoop.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Darcy.
"Oh, Mr. Darcy, don't strike me! I'm Bart Kane. I've had enough of this night, and I crawled here"—