“No, no!” cried the convict, startled by the charge, and shrinking from the horrified and indignant-looking Mrs Braydon and the two girls.
“He did, missus,” cried Brookes, struggling to his feet. “I had to speak to him for idling, and he struck at me with the axe. There it lies, and if I hadn’t had this fork he’d ha’ killed me. You see, he’s most mad: why don’t you get a gun, Sam?”
“I don’t want no gun,” said old Sam snappishly. “He didn’t cut your head like that with the chopper, did he?”
“Yes, yes: look! I’m bleeding ’most to dead.”
“Looks more as if you’d gone down on the block. There, missus: hadn’t you and the young ladies best go indoors?”
“No; not yet,” cried Mrs Braydon indignantly. “In my husband’s absence too! Man, man, have you not been well treated here?”
“Yes, madam,” said the convict hoarsely.
“Such an outrage—such a cruel outrage on Dr Braydon’s trusted servant!”
“What he said, madam, is not true,” cried the convict, recovering himself now from the giddiness produced by the stunning blow. “I did not, I could not raise the axe to him.”
As he spoke he turned his eyes from Mrs Braydon to her daughters, and he shivered as he saw Janet’s indignant look.