'Nay. But that is cowardly!' I cried, 'to run away and think only of our own skins when the weak and old are being murdered!'
'We shall be murdered ourselves in a few more minutes if we stay here,' muttered the old man. 'Child,' he said, forgetting my new dignity, which indeed profited me nothing just then, 'it is to save our lives—yours, the most precious of all. How could I face Sir Henry again if you were killed?'
And his voice shook.
'Killed! Killed? Are they threatening that? Oh, but, Timothy, we have never done them any harm.'
'Ay, but you have!' cried the loud, domineering voice of Sir Claudius, as he thrust himself forward to get between Timothy and me. 'You have tried to stop our sport!'
'Sport!' cried I, with the most mighty contempt I ever felt in all my life. 'Sport! Call you it sport to torture and kill poor feeble old women?'
Angered by my words, the miscreant was about to lay hold of me with his great hands, when the lacquey Joseph gave him a blow of the fist which sent him staggering into the midst of his men.
Alas, that was, as it were, a signal for hostilities to commence. Men and boys rushed on us from all sides. My men-servants were seized by overpowering numbers and hurled to the ground, and I myself was lifted bodily out of the litter and set on a bank by the roadside, so that all might see me.
The two old women were drowned now—their murderers thirsted for more blood, and Sir Claudius, smarting from the treatment he had received from the hands of my good Joseph, yearned above all things for revenge.
'Eh, lads! What shall we do to my lady?' he asked mockingly, pointing to me.