“I tell you he did,” cried Brookes, holding the fork now threateningly, as soldiers would bayonets. “He tried to murder me. Sam, are you going to fetch a gun?”
“Yah! I’m going to fetch a bucket o’ water if you won’t do it yourself. Missus—young ladies, why don’t you go? This ain’t the place for you.”
“No,” said Mrs Braydon, taking Hilda’s hand. “Come in, Janet.”
But for a moment Janet did not stir, held as she was by the convict’s imploring look as he said, addressing Mrs Braydon, though as if for her:
“Indeed, madam, it is not true. This man struck me brutally: I forgot myself—I did strike him in return.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Braydon coldly; and; uttering a sob, Janet gave the convict a reproachful look and followed her mother into the house.