Full gape he stood at sight of Gabrielle being comforted by a dust-begrimed youth in plum-coloured coat and breeches, and with a face grim set at sight of him.
"An' who the devil are you, sir?" he cried, with a mighty fashionable oath to set seal to his aping manhood. "Be off on the instant if you don't want my cane about your shoulders."
But Michael did not waste time in words. Two soft brown eyes had been swimming in tears as a round, white wrist was raised for his inspection of a certain ugly mark on it.
With a wild snort he leapt across the marigolds and snatched the dainty cane out of its owner's clasp.
"Now fight me like a man," he roared, bull-like in his rage, "or else sure you'll take the soundest thrashing you've tasted yet, for a coward born."
Mr. Morice St. Just Conyers was not accustomed to such a challenge. It shocked his delicate sensibilities, yet, after all, he had fight in him.
Little Gabrielle watched them from the shelter of the old medlar-tree, sobbing in very terror as she saw the raining of hard blows and the blood on Michael's face.
But the lads paid no heed to her sobs and prayers, for their blood was up, and they were as hard set to their work as game cockerels in the pit.
And Michael was the winner, though he panted vigorously as he stood over his fallen adversary.
"And if ye want more at any time, sir," quoth he, with immense dignity, "you'll find Michael Berrington ready enough to teach you another lesson."