“No, because I stopped you,” cried Waller. “Who are you, and where did you steal that pistol?”
“It was my own,” said the other proudly.
“But what were you doing with that pistol here?—poaching, I suppose? Lucky for you my fine fellow, that I stopped you. Do you know what would have happened to you if you had killed one of the deer? Ha, ha, ha! Killed one of the deer! Why, you could not have hit a haystack with that thing.”
“Deer!” cried the lad. “I did not want to kill the deer.”
“Don’t believe you!” cried Waller.
The lad’s face flushed, and an indignant flash darted from his eyes.
“How dare you doubt my word of honour,” he cried. “Here, let me get up.”
“Shan’t! Lie still!” shouted Waller, flinging out his doubled fist and holding it within a few inches of his prisoner’s nose. “Your word of honour, eh? Why, who do you call yourself, my dirty, ragged Jack, with your honour! Who are you, and where do you come from?”
“Yes, you are a coward,” said the lad bitterly, “or you would not insult a gentleman lying weak and helpless at your mercy.”
Waller felt a little touched.