“Americans recognize no authority but that of might. They are wonderful fighters.”
“They fight like fiends!” exclaimed Maro. “Who could think that those boys would dare attack us! And I was armed with a knife.”
“Little good it did you,” returned Tyrus, with a touch of scorn. “I had no weapon, and I would have mastered one of them had not the old man attacked me, scratching and clawing like a cat.”
“But you are going to let them carry Flavia away?”
“You have as much right to stop them as I have.”
“No, no!” almost shouted Maro, in great exasperation. “You have the right, for you are her uncle. You must do it!”
“I like not your language, Maro. No man has ever told me I must do a thing.”
“But you let them walk away with her?”
“Because the young man, strong and able to battle for his rights, fled and sought shelter in hiding. Maro, I sadly fear I have been much mistaken in you. I fear you are a coward.”
The younger man flushed with mingled anger and shame.