'Well said, Isaac Potts!' cried more than one. 'Dang his cheek! Heave him out of it!'
And some half-dozen rushed forward to suit the action to the word, foremost among them Isaac Potts. In the position Litvinoff had taken up, it was impossible for more than one man to attack him at a time. As the young mill hand, armed with a piece of wood still smouldering redly, sprang to lead the attack, a woman's voice—his sweetheart's—sounded shrilly from behind the crowd,—
'Keep back, Isaac—keep back; he'll brain thee for sure!'
The warning was unheeded, or, if the young man heard it, it only urged him on. He stopped an instant, hurled the wood at Litvinoff's head, and sprang forward to follow up his missile. The aim was not a good one. The brand only hit the door lintel, struck out a shower of sparks, and fell across the step. It was an unlucky miss for Isaac. Litvinoff planted one foot firmly, and gave his axe a swing. It came down crashing through collar-bone and shoulder blade, and almost severing the arm from the body. Isaac staggered back upon the men behind him, covering them with blood as he fell. There was a silence of a moment, which seemed long. The crowd drew a deep breath.
All the devil in Litvinoff's nature was roused now.
'Come on, you madmen!' he cried, as he recovered himself and brought his axe to the shoulder again. 'Come on! Get into this room now if you can!'
But the general ambition to get into that room was a little damped somehow, and the few who had been close on Isaac's heels fell back, and left him alone, all but one man, who stood glaring into Litvinoff's eyes. He held a heavy iron bar in his hand.
'Back you go, or down you go!' shouted Litvinoff, making a step towards him, and giving the axe a swing in the air.
The man did not wait for the blow. He retreated, and joined the crowd just as the girl who had shrieked that warning tore her way through to the place where her lover was lying, and bent over him.
Litvinoff brought his weapon to his side. Then he said quietly,—