"I'm uncommonly glad to see you, gentlemen, whoever you are," he exclaimed, riding up to us. "For close upon three hours have I been trying to come upon a path, or a road, or a track, or something that led somewhere, and have only succeeded in losing myself more completely. Curse these mists! How far am I from Luccombe Hall?"
To my surprise my father made no answer, and when I looked towards him he was sitting bolt upright in his saddle, with his eyes riveted upon the stranger. So I answered his question.
"If you mean Sir Frederick Lawson's place, it's about nine miles off. We are going that way."
The stranger thanked me heartily, and moved his horse to the side of mine. And then happened the strangest thing which I had ever seen. My father, who was the most courteous and gentlest-mannered man I ever came near, rose suddenly in his stirrups, and, without a word, struck the stranger full in the mouth with the back of his hand.
It seemed for a moment as though he must fall from his horse; but by a great effort he recovered himself, and, with the blood streaming from his mouth, grasped his riding-whip and dug spurs into his horse as though to spring at my father. What followed was the strangest part of all. Although his assailant was within a yard of him, with his heavy riding-whip lifted high in the air to strike, my father never moved a muscle, but simply sat still as a statue upon his pony. But at the last moment, when the whip was quivering in the air, he quietly raised his hand and lifted his hat from his head. There he sat motionless, with the faint moon which had just struggled out from a bank of clouds shining on his handsome, delicate face, and with his clear, firm eyes fixed steadily upon the stranger. Like a tableaux vivant, burnt into my memory, I shall carry that scene with me until I die.
The moment my father removed his hat his would-be assailant evidently recognised him. His whip dropped heavily to the ground, and into his ghastly face there leaped such an expression of horrified surprise as my pen could never dissect and set down in words.
"My God! Herbert! Is this possible!"
"Keep back, keep away from me," muttered my father in a low suppressed tone, as though he were striving to control some violent passion. "Keep out of my reach lest I do you a mischief. Thank God, we are not alone. Speak! What are you doing here?"
The fierce restraint which he seemed to be putting upon his words made them come forth slowly with a monotonous sing-song which sounded more terrible than the wildest outburst. I was shivering all over with dread of what might come of this.
The stranger answered hoarsely, and I could tell that he, too, had felt the peculiar effect of my father's strange tone.