"Wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be—but never again, never again will 'ee cheat a man of his maid, never again! Stole her from me, lied her away from me!—Oh wonderful pleasant spoken 'ee be——"
It was death that was come on him now, and he knew it, the death he had defied—for so long—in savage places. Strange that it should come to him here at last in this peaceful old garden. Death—the world was swimming about him—he seemed to see Kathleen's face, the fighting hands were grown powerless and never for a moment did that grip on his throat relax.
"Oh wonderful, powerful pleasant spoken 'ee be——" chuckled the voice.
And then the man was torn from his victim, dragged from him and flung violently to the stone pavement. Kathleen had run screaming to the house, the servants were alarmed, Howard, prompt and efficient, came hurrying with lighted lamp; others followed, Kathleen with them.
"It's Scarsdale—been attacked—he's fainted—lift him, some of you, carry him in—stop that man, stop him!"
For Abram Lestwick had risen, he stood there for a moment, then turned to fly, but suddenly stood still, as the lamp-light stone for a moment on Allan's face. Lestwick peered at him. His hands rose to his own throat, fumbled with it, tore at his collar till they tore it loose.
"Bless I if it bain't Abram Lestwick!" said a voice, the voice belonged to old Markabee, "Abram Lestwick it du be!"
"Aye, it be me!" Lestwick said, he spoke dully, still fumbling at his throat, his eyes wandered from the figure of the man they were lifting, to Allan's face clear in the lamp-light, eyes from which all the fire and passion had died out.
He had made a mistake, his slow brain was grasping the fact—a mistake—why should he have made a mistake? Surely it had been the right man, had he not climbed the wall and waited and seen a man with a woman and that woman Betty—who else could it have been? And then—then—
"A terribul strong intentioned man I be!" Abram muttered. "Terribul passionate and quick——" His eyes roved round restlessly, he still worked at his frayed and torn collar. "I must be going, time be getting on, very late it be growing, I've stayed too long!" He would have turned, but old Markabee faced him resolutely.