At length, as the blows grew and grew, the poor little shoulders grew redder and sorer. The boy's cries at last rose into a wild shriek. It was at this moment that Tom Blount, who often made this part of the wood a short-cut to the village when on his rounds amongst his parishioners, came into view.
He stopped for a second as if stricken dumb with amazement; then he ran forward. He knew the boy well—little George Robins! He was indeed very fond of the delicate child. He had a desperately warm heart—poor Blount!
"What are you doing?" cried he in an infuriated voice. It maddened him to hear the child's cries. He crashed through some underwood that lay before him, and, coming up to Ambert, dragged the boy away from him, and flung him behind him. Such a careful flinging—holding the boy until he was steady on his feet, then letting him go.
Ambert turned upon the curate furiously.
"What the devil are you doing here, sir, in my wood? What brought you here to-day? Sneaking, eh?"
"Run home, George," said the curate to the boy, who was standing trembling behind him.
"How dare you interfere!" said Ambert. "That boy shall not go. I have not done with him yet."
"You have done with him! I'll see that you don't touch him again. Why, you've nearly done for him for ever," said he, looking at the boy, who was shaking nervously, and down whose face the blood was streaming from a last cut of Ambert's cane. "To attack a child like that!" cried Blount, fuming—the blood was sickening him. "What do you mean by it, you brute?" Blount had now indeed completely lost his temper.
They were both so enraged that neither of them saw Elfrida as she came slowly from between the bushes. She was accompanied by Dicky Browne, Agatha, and John Dillwyn. This little party stood silent, astonished at what was going on. They were behind the two men, and, standing amongst the tall bracken, could hardly be seen, even had they been in front. Ambert and Blount were very plain to them, and the little trembling child too, with the blood running down his face.
It was here that Ambert, who was a big man, made a movement to push Blount aside, but the curate, though spare, knew a thing or two about boxing. He did something or other to Ambert, and then looked back at the boy.