“You will not be able to stop at the rectory even if that busybody Bates doesn’t carry it over to the magistrates.”
“I know everything,” said Distin, firmly, and he drew a long breath now of relief. “I am set upon it, even if I never hold up my head again.”
“All right,” said Vane in his peculiar, hard, stubborn way. “You’ve made up your mind; then I’ve made up mine.”
“What do you mean?” said Distin.
“Wait and see,” said Vane, shortly.
“But I wish to get it over.”
“I know you do. But you’re all right. Look at me, I can’t see, but expect my face is all puffy; and look at my knuckles. These fellows have got heads like wood.”
“I am sorry, very sorry,” said Distin, sadly; “but I want to make all the reparation I can.”
“Give me that handkerchief,” said Vane sharply; and he snatched it from Distin’s hand. “No, no, keep back. I’ll do what there is to do. They’re not fit to touch. Ah, would you!”
The top boy had suddenly thrown up his head in an effort to free himself. But his forehead came in contact with Vane’s fist and he dropped back with a groan.