Bessie opened the door of the front parlour, and found the room in the utmost disorder. Chairs were overturned, and the lamp upset and broken.
Bristow had his fingers round his wife’s throat, and appeared to be endeavouring to throttle her.
“You inhuman monster!” exclaimed Bessie, catching hold of the back part of the collar of the man’s coat, and dragging him back with all her force.
“Now, look here, Bristow,” said Peace, “don’t be a fool. You’ve got a good wife, and you don’t know how to treat her. A man’s a coward who lays his hand upon a woman.”
“Ish he?” returned the ruffian, turning savagely upon the speaker—“ish he? Then I’ll lay my hands upon a man, that I may teach him to mind his own bushnis.”
Having given utterance to these words he sprang upon Peace like a wild beast.
The latter deftly slipped out of his grasp, and gave him a push, which sent him sprawling backwards.
He rose to his feet, and was about to commence another attack, when Bessie Dalton, who was a lion-hearted little girl, threw herself between the two combatants.
“I’m not afraid of you, big as you are,” said Bessie. “So if you want to hit anyone, hit me.”
With a look of drunken stupidity Bristow poised himself on his legs, which, to say the least, were particularly shaky at this time, and contemplated the girl with something like admiration.