“Now, thou hardened sinner,” cried the Bruiser, bending over him. “Beg from thy daughter on thy knees for a night’s shelter in this house. Beg, or I will thrust thy craven face against the floor.”
The girl clung to her newly-found husband, and entreated him not to hurt her father.
“I shall not hurt him if he do but speak. If he has naught but curses on his lips, why then those lips must kiss the flags that are beneath him. Speak out, blacksmith: what hast thou to say?”
“I beg for shelter,” said the conquered man.
Instantly the Bruiser released him.
“Get thee to bed,” he said, and the old man slunk away.
“Wife,” said Abel Trenchon, opening his arms, “I have come all the way from London for thee. I knew not then what drew me north, but now I know that One wiser than me led my steps hither. As far as erring man may promise I do promise thee that thou shalt ne’er regret being cast out this night into the storm.”