“My dear madam, I must study your husband and the commonweal of this colony,” said the magistrate firmly. “Good morning.”
“But—you wish refreshments?” faltered Mrs Braydon.
“Some other time, madam. My visit now must be very painful to you all.”
He raised his hat, spurred his horse, and galloped off after his men; while, as Mrs Braydon stood gazing after him, Janet uttered a low wail, flung her arms about her sister’s neck, and whispered, “Take me in, dear. I cannot bear it, take me in.”
“Janet, my child!” cried Mrs Braydon; and in an agony of suffering she helped to lead the agitated girl into the house, while old Sam trotted off into the stable, and came back with a halter in his hand to where Brookes stood, shading his swollen-up eyes with one hand, holding the rein of his horse with the other.
“Thank ye, mate,” he said, as he saw the halter, “but I dunno as I want it. Take the horse in for me; I want a wash. Don’t s’pose Mr Leatherhead’ll hit at me again.”
“Yes,” said old Sam in a husky voice, “I’ll take the poor horse. Here, ketch hold. How are you a-going to face Master Nic when, he comes back?”
“Face him!” cried Brookes savagely: “I’ll face him and show him what his fav’rite has done. He shall see my face, and then he may go and look at his convict’s back and see how he likes that.”
“Here, ketch hold,” cried old Sam, shaking the rope.
“Tell you I don’t want it,” cried Brookes savagely.