“Advancing a step or two towards me, he inquired, in a voice hoarse with rage, what I was doing there. I replied, 'Endeavouring to prevent some of his evil designs from succeeding'. He tried to answer me, but his utterance was literally choked by passion; and turning away, he strode up and down the room gnashing and grinding his teeth like a maniac. Having in some degree recovered his self-control, he again approached me, drew himself up to his full height, and, pointing to the door, desired me to leave the room.
“I replied I should not do so until I had given the young lady a piece of information respecting the character of one of the party—and I pointed to the billiard-marker, who had not yet alighted—I should then, I added, learn from her own lips whether she still wished to remain there, or would take my advice and return to her father.
“Again Wilford ground his teeth with rage, and desired me, in a voice of thunder, to 'leave the room instantly '; to which I replied flatly that I would not.
“He then made a sign to Wentworth, and they both approached me, with the intention of forcing me out. Fearing that their combined efforts might overpower me (for Wentworth, though short, is a broad-shouldered, strong man, and Wilford's muscles are like iron), I avoided their grasp by stepping backwards, and, hitting out with my right hand as I did so, caught Wentworth full on the nose, tapping his claret for him, as the pugilists call it, and sending him down like a shot. At the same moment Wilford sprang upon me with a bound like a tiger, and seizing me by the throat a short but severe struggle took place between us. I was too strong for him, however; and finding this, he would gladly have ceased hostilities and quitted me, kindly postponing my annihilation till some future day, when it could be more conveniently accomplished by means of a pistol-bullet. But, as you may imagine, my blood was pretty well up by this time, and I determined he should not get off quite so easily. Seizing, therefore, my whip in one hand, I detained him without much trouble with the other—his strength being thoroughly exhausted by his previous exertions—and administered such a thrashing as will keep him out of mischief for a week to come, at all events. It was while this was going on that you made your appearance, I think; so now you are au fait to the whole affair—and pray, what else could I possibly have done under the circumstances?”
“It is not easy to say,” replied I. “I think the horse-whipping might have been omitted, though I suppose the result would have been the same at all events, and it certainly was a great temptation. The brightest side of the business is your having saved the poor girl, who I really believe is more to be pitied than blamed, having only followed the dictates of her woman's nature, by allowing her feelings to overrule her judgment.”
“You have used exactly the right expression there,” said Oaklands; “in such cases as the present, it is not that the woman is weak enough to be gulled by every plausible tale which may be told her, but that she has such entire confidence, such pure and child-like faith in the man she loves, that she will believe anything rather than admit the possibility of his deceiving her.”
“The deeper villain he, who can betray such simple trust,” replied I.
“Villain, indeed!” returned Oaklands. “I would not have been in Wilford's place, to have witnessed that girl's look when the conviction of his baseness was forced upon her, for worlds; it was not a look of anger nor of sorrow, but it seemed as if the blow had literally crushed her heart within her—-as if the brightness of her young spirit had fled for ever, and that to live would only be to prolong the duration of her misery. No; I would rather have faced death in its most horrible form, than have met that look, knowing that my own treachery had called it forth.”
We rode for some little distance in silence. At length I inquired how he meant to arrange for Lizzie Maurice's return to her home, as it would not do for us, unless he wished the part we had taken in the affair to be known all over Cambridge, to escort her to her father's door in the order of procession in which we were then advancing.
“No, I was just thinking of that,” replied Oaklands. “It appears to me that the quietest way of managing the affair will be to pay the boy for the horse and cart at once, telling him to set Lizzie Maurice down within a short distance of her father's shop, and then to drive back with the woman. Lizzie can proceed on foot, and will probably at this time of the evening (it was nearly seven o'clock) be able to enter the house without attracting attention: we will, however, keep her in sight, so as to be at hand to render her assistance should she require it. I do not myself feel the slightest doubt that her father will believe her tale, and treat her kindly. I shall, however, leave her my direction, and should she require my testimony in support of her veracity, or should the old man be unwilling to receive her, she must inform me of it, and I will call upon him, and try to bring him to reason.”