"She be my promised wife," he said quietly, "my promised wife her be!"
"No, no!" the girl sobbed. "Never have I given him a promise of mine—never, never! Doan't let—doan't let him touch me! Oh I be frightened—frightened!"
Allan thrust her back gently. Strangely enough in some ways he and this other man were alike, alike and yet so vastly different, slow to anger was each, yet when that anger was aroused, it was deadly and terrible. It was roused now, that pitiful cry, that white face, those tearful, terrified eyes, those little clinging hands that were stretched out to him, craving his protection. What he said he did not know, the words came hot and furious. He called the other man cur and villain, he ordered him away, he lifted clenched fists in threatening.
But Abram Lestwick stood staring, like one surprised at the interference of this man. What right had he, what was it to him? He knew the man, knew him for Allan Homewood, Esquire, of the gentry, so what right had he to interfere between a man and his promised wife.
"You hear me, you coward, you hear me? I order you to go and never to come back; if you torment and threaten this child, I'll thrash you, yes man, thrash you till I cannot stand over you!"
"And me——" Abram Lestwick said, blinking his eyes at Allan, "me—what would I be doing?"
There came slowly into his dull mind a dim suspicion. This man was young, he lived beneath the same roof as Betty, Betty was beautiful, the most beautiful maid in all Sussex, in all the world! This man had seen her, admired her, loved her, what man could help it? But she belonged to him, Abram Lestwick.
"What be that maid to 'ee," he said, "what be her to 'ee?" A dull red came into his face, his eyes shone evilly.
The girl crouched back against the wall, still clasping her soft cheeks between her hands. She was watching them, waiting, wondering, conscious of a thrill of pride—these two men—were going to fight—for her.
She had no fear of the battle to come, and the bloodshed there might be, she was eager for it. She wanted to see Allan Homewood—Allan kill this man whom she hated and feared so, rid her of him for ever. Why—why did not they begin, what were they waiting for? Why this long silence?