"What does this mean?" said Peter, making an attempt to pass.
He looked swiftly from one to the other, recognising his opponent as the man he had seen talking from his horse in the yard yesterday.
The man struck at Peter with his whip.
Peter caught the blow on his arm, and flung out his fists.
"What's your quarrel with me?" asked Peter.
"Well you know it," said the man.
Peter turned to the farmer's granddaughter. She smiled at him, and he understood. He was filled with a desolating sense of the futility of resisting the event.
"I've no quarrel with you," he drearily protested to the man, "why do you force it?"
"It's late to talk of forcing."