“Was ever anything so provoking?” muttered Trevor, as they bowed and passed, taking a turning that led in another direction. “Oh! this is unbearable.”
For a moment he stood irresolute, hesitating as to whether he should hurry after them; but he was, to use his own words, too much taken aback, and ended by following a narrow pathway into the woods, down which he had not gone half a dozen yards before he became aware that there had been another spectator to his interview with Polly, and that no less a person than Humphrey.
“What the devil are you doing there, sir?” roared Trevor, who was half beside himself with a rage which grew hotter as the bluff young Cornishman stood leaning on his gun, and said, sturdily—
“Watching you, sir.”
“Watching me?”
“Yes, sir. I did not mean to, but I was obliged when I saw what I did.”
“Then you saw me talking to that girl?”
“Yes, sir, I did; and you had no right to do so.”
“How dare you speak to me like that, sir?” roared Trevor; and thoroughly roused now, he caught the young keeper by the throat, and for a few moments the ferns were trampled under foot as they wrestled together, till the veins stood up in knots in Humphrey’s white forehead, as his hat fell off, and, grinding his teeth together, he put out his strength, and, with all the skill of a Cornish wrestler, threw Trevor heavily on his back.
“You would have it,” said the keeper, hoarsely. “You made me forget my place; so don’t blame me for it. Have I hurt you, sir?”