She broke suddenly into half-hysterical laughter, the mirthless and uncontrollable laughter of one unnerved by shock. Isaac threw her back from him so roughly that she reeled and staggered against Dan. Bess felt her husband’s hands over her bosom, gripping her so that she stood with her back to him and could not move. Isaac was limping to and fro before them, handling his gun, flashing now and again a fierce look at Bess. For the moment she understood but vaguely what was passing in the old man’s mind.
Isaac faced them suddenly, his eyes glinting from a net-work of wrinkles.
“Stand aside, lad,” he said, his fingers contracting about the stock of the gun.
Bess felt Dan’s arms tighten about her body.
“What be ye thinking of, father?” he asked.
“Stand aside.”
Bess, with a sudden flash of dread, understood the fierce purpose in him, and her terror swept away all other feelings for the instant. She twisted herself round in Dan’s arms and clung to him desperately, looking up into his face.
“No, no,” she panted, “hold me, Dan; dear God, don’t let the old man shoot me.”
Dan’s arms were fast about her, and he faced his father, who was poking the gun forward and licking his lips.
“Odd’s my life, stand aside from the she-dog.”