Feeling sure that the maniac was conquered, John Legg turned his attention from the scene of conquest on the table to the scene of suffering on the carpet.
“Is the young man dangerously wounded?” he inquired in a low tone of Mr. Campbell.
“We hope not. We hope this may be only a scalp wound. But it will be impossible to tell until there is a surgical examination,” replied the minister.
“Has a doctor been sent for?”
“Yes; Mr. Walling has gone out to dispatch a servant for Mr. Hobbs, the village practitioner.”
“Oh, me poor Mike!” cried Judy, breaking afresh into sobs and tears and dialect. “Me poor, dear, darlint bhoy! Sure he was born to have the head av him broke. Sure, it’s not the first time, though it’s the worst. But, afther all, it is not so bad broke as me own dear Ran’s was, be the same token, and be the hands av that same murthering thaif av the wurruld! Oh! wirra! wirra! It was not enough that he kilt me dear Ran intirely, but now he must kill me poor Mike!” wailed Judy until her words were drowned in a flood of tears.
Mr. Campbell gazed in astonishment for a moment. In this wild Irish girl, giving full swing to her emotions and her brogue, he could scarcely recognize the quiet gentlewoman he had known now for some hours as Mrs. Randolph Hay. But he quickly recovered himself, and atoned for his involuntary rudeness by withdrawing his gaze and offering the gentlest words of consolation.
In the meantime the struggle on the table was continued in grim silence. The opponents saving all their wind for their strife until, as they swayed back and forth, the equilibrium of the board was overbalanced, and table and men fell together to the floor with a loud crash that called forth shrieks from the women.
For one moment the three men rolled together in a knot on the carpet, and the next Gentleman Geff lay flat on his back, with Longman’s knees on his chest and hands around his throat.
“Ran!” exclaimed the hunter, “take my handkerchief out of my coat pocket and tie the feet of this wild beast!”