“When you took a cowardly advantage of me, sir. I have not forgotten it, but—bah! I have no time to quarrel with such a cad. Be off, and if you come here again, take the consequences.”
He turned on his heel to go up to the house.
“Stop,” said Chris, in a low deep trembling voice. “Mr Glyddyr, I appeal to you once more. Don’t go up there to that place now,” and he laid his hand upon his shoulder.
Glyddyr turned upon him, and made a backhanded blow at his face.
The flame flashed out for an instant, and then it was smothered down.
Quick as lightning Chris Lisle’s firm, strong hand gripped his rival by the wrist; there was a savage wrench given to the arm, and, after a miserable attempt at resistance, Glyddyr leant over to ease the agony he felt.
“If I did what nature seems to prompt me to do,” whispered Chris, “I should throw you into that moat; but, I will try and keep my temper. You are half-drunk. You are not fit to go up to that house. I am not afraid of your going there, but I will not have her insulted by your presence to-night. Come down here.”
His grip was like that of some machine as he gave Glyddyr’s arm another wrench, and then marched him right away down the path to the harbour, and then along the pier to the end.
Before they reached this point, Glyddyr had made another feeble attempt to free himself, and there was a momentary struggle, which brought both to the edge of the south pier, where there was a fall into deep water.
“Come quietly, or, by all that’s holy, I’ll throw you in,” said Chris hoarsely; and Glyddyr ceased struggling, and suffered himself to be led to the end, where the crew of the yacht’s gig were waiting, smoking, till their master came.