“There is this in our agreement, wench,” he said, gripping her hand. “We are here alone, and I tell you plainly that you do not leave this house. You know what I can do when I am in earnest.”
“Let go my hand,” she answered. “You hurt me.”
Instead of releasing his grip he squeezed her wrist so hard that she cried out in pain.
“Yes, let go,” said I, stepping into view.
He wheeled round in amazement and dropped the girl’s hand.
“Who the devil are you?”
The excitement of the evening had told on the girl’s nerves. Her spirit was weakened as we stood in the deserted room that a moment before had been a very bedlam. “Oh, take me away,” she cried piteously. “He will beat me if you leave me here.”
The landlord caught up a chair and lifted it above his head.
“Get out of here,” he cried, coming toward me with a swing of the chair aloft.
“Too fast,” I replied, drawing my sword. “Too fast, my friend. Put down that chair.”