Cæsar turned his rough shoulder and said, “Go to your room, ma'am, and keep it for a week.”
“You may go,” said Ross. “I'll spare the old simpleton for your sake, Kate.”
“You'll spare me, sir?” cried Cæsar. “I've seen the day—but thank the Lord for restraining grace! Spare me? If you had said as much five-and-twenty years ago, sir, your head would have gone ringing against the wall.”
“I'll spare you no more, then,” said Ross. “Take that—and that.”
Amid screams from the women, two sounding blows fell on Cæsar's face. At the next instant Philip was standing between the two men.
“Come this way,” he said, addressing Ross.
“If I like,” Ross answered.
“This way, I tell you,” said Philip.
Ross snapped his fingers. “As you please,” he said, and then followed Philip out of the house.
Kate had run upstairs in terror, but five minutes afterwards she was on the road, with a face full of distress, and a shawl over head and shoulders. At the bridge she met Kelly, the postman.