It was as deliberate an insult as could have been elaborated. Mr. Sauls felt better when he had said that. The pleasure of telling Meg's husband what he thought of him was worth a good deal; and his words hit. Barnabas flushed hotly, and stood crushing his fingers together.
"I'm sworn not to fight on my own quarrel," he said in a choked voice; and the reply cost him a hard struggle with the "old Adam". Meekness was not the preacher's natural characteristic.
"That was a most convenient oath!" said George. Was the man a coward? he wondered. "Do you go so far as turning the other cheek?"
"I'm not meaning to fight with ye; I told her I'd not do it; but," said the preacher, drawing his breath hard, "it 'ud take more nor a man to do that."
"Ah! I am glad you draw the line at that," said George. Again it was the pronoun that was more than he could stand. He raised his cane with a sudden swift movement.
"Come! you draw it at the 'other cheek,' eh?"
Barnabas sprang forward and caught the descending blow on the palm of his hand; his fingers closed on the cane. He jerked it out of his enemy's grasp, broke it across his knee, and flung it into the pool. God knew how fierce was the longing in him to send Mr. Sauls after it. He had forced his assailant backwards in the half-minute's struggle, and George himself had wondered for a second whether a plunge into the black water would be the end of it all.
"Ye can think me a coward if ye choose," said Barnabas. "Happen I'd be one if I broke an oath for your thinking. I'll not fight with ye, man."
George, who had felt the preacher's strength, eyed him thoughtfully. Even he recognised that it was not fear that had flashed into those blue eyes a few moments ago.
"Well, you see," he remarked coolly, "men who won't fight usually are cowards in this wicked world; and poor men who walk off with confiding young ladies, blest with rich papas, usually have an eye to the main chance; but I own I—I half believe you honest after all."