Again Lomax came back. A cold fear seized him, as he caught the drift of the drunkard's threats; he had forgotten that his hasty method of self-defence might place Kate in jeopardy. Again he stood in the middle of the room and looked at the company; but his throat was parched; he was sick with pity, wild with the thought that Kate's name would soon be on every tongue here—would be bandied across this reeking bar, among the shag-smoke, the dirty pots, the beer-droppings on the floor.
"Tha'rt noan so pleased wi' thyseln, seemingly, as tha war a while back," jeered Strangeways, seeing that Griff made no further forward movement, but just stood there like one dazed. "Thee wend home to thy mammy-bird, lad, an' let other fowks's wives alone for th' future."
Still Lomax did not move. The wondering faces to right and left of him showed so many blurred spots of white through the smoke clouds. Every second that he stood there made against them—against Kate and himself—yet the words would not come. The quarrymaster grew bolder, and rose to an effort of wit.
"Landlord," said he, taking two greasy coppers from his pocket and laying them on the table, "we're fine an' freehanded i' Marshcotes Parish. 'Drinks round,' says Mr. Lummax; an', 'drinks for Mr. Lummax,' says Joe Strangeways—— Come, Griff," he went on, with brutal familiarity, "we'll sink th' woman i' beer; tak her for gooid an' all if tha wants, an' we'll be mates, thee an' me. Let fowk talk. I bear thee no malice, lad."
Griff found his tongue at last. The less sober of the company afterwards declared that "it war as if fork-leetning war playing round his face, an' his words came out like thunner."
"Strange ways, I never yet gave my word to a thing and then went back on it. And I promise you now that if you lay a finger on Kate, I'll smash every bone in your body."
"An' swing for 't?" sneered Joe.
"Ay, and swing for it, if need be," Griff answered, his voice falling to a quietness that appalled the quarrymaster.
The landlord followed him into the passage.
"I'm fair sick o' yon Strangeways, sir. He's a surly wastril, as is allus kicking up a row i' my public. Only, ye wouldn't be thinking o' persecuting him for shying that there mug at ye? It 'ud be brought in drunk and disorderly, sure as sure, an' that harms a respectable public."