“Silence, sir!” roared the Major.
“Silence yourself!” cried Sturgess savagely. “Who are you?”
“The father of the lady you insulted, and but for her sake you would have been sent to gaol.”
“For courting a pretty girl,” cried Sturgess, with a mocking laugh. “But I’ll have no more of it. Do you hear, both of you—you too, Clive Reed? You call yourselves my masters. I’m yours. Keep off, both of you, if you value your necks. I tell you she’s my girl—my lass—my very own to marry or leave as I please.”
Dinah uttered a piteous moan, and turned her agonised face to Clive, who stood there with jaw dropped and the paper trembling in his hand.
“Yes. You see. She don’t deny it.”
“Dinah!” cried Clive wildly, and there was so agonising an appeal in his voice, that his cry thrilled her, and sent the blood flushing into her pale cheeks, as she now stood up unsupported.
“Yes, all of you; it’s all right. I used to meet her on the hill side, and we used to go courting among the heather before these white-faced hounds came down. She don’t deny it. She daren’t. Dinah, my lass, come here.”
Clive made a movement to fling himself upon the ruffian, but the Doctor passed a hand across his chest.
“Too weak, boy,” he whispered. “Give the scoundrel rope.”