"I could have helped it well enough, and a better man would. Something shot through me—I hope it wasn't hatred; I am sure it was anger—and the man went down! What if the devil struck the blow!"
"Nonsense, Ian!" said Alister, as they raised Sercombe to carry him to the cottage. "It was pure indignation, and nothing to blame in it!"
"I wish I could be sure of that!"
They had not gone far before he began to come to himself.
"What are you about?" he said feebly but angrily. "Set me down."
They did so. He staggered to the road-side, and leaned against the bank.
"What's been the row?" he asked. "Oh, I remember!—Well, you've had the best of it!"
He held out his hand in a vague sort of way, and the gesture invaded their soft hearts. Each took the hand.
"I was all right about the girl though," said Sercombe. "I didn't mean her any harm."
"I don't think you did," answered Alister; "and I am sure you could have done her none; but the girl did not like it."