And still the man did not answer; why did he not speak? What was he waiting for, was it——?
A smile came into Allan's face, it was a smile of contempt. He might have guessed it, there was only one plaster for such a wound as Abram's. He took out his pocket-book and from it a five pound note.
"I hope you will accept this," he said, "and with it my apology."
Abram looked up, his eyes wandered from Allan's face to the outstretched hand that held the note. He seemed to hesitate, a convulsion passed across his features, then he stretched out his hand suddenly and took the note. He did not snatch it, for Abram was ever a polite man, he took it gently and looked at it and then—then he tore it, slowly across and across and yet again, tore it into small strips that he flung to the ground and stamped into the soft earth with his foot.
"I thank 'ee, Mr. Homewood," he said in his low, passionless voice, "I du thank 'ee most politely, I du, sir, for your good intentions toward I—I thank 'ee, sir, most politely!" And then he turned away and went slowly to his work in the rick yard.
Allan stood lost in wonder, he watched the man go, he glanced down at the ragged scraps of what had once been a valuable piece of paper, trodden into the earth.
So be it! He had done all that he could do, the man had apparently refused to accept his apology. Sudden anger came to him.
"Lestwick!" he called sharply. "Lestwick!"
Lestwick stopped, but did not turn.
"I have this to say to you, my man," Allan said hotly, "I injured you, under a wrong impression, for which I have expressed regret, but I believe, on my soul, that you really deserved all you got. You have annoyed and terrorised a girl who has no feeling save of fear and dislike of you. In future you will leave her alone; if I find you hanging about my house, waiting to waylay Betty Hanson, then I'll deal with you again, as I dealt with you on Saturday night. Remember that, my man, it's no idle threat!"