The three were silent a moment while Bess stood in the centre of the room, passionately defiant, her fists clinched, her strong chin up. Old Isaac watched her, and still rubbed his hands together. Dan, looking sullen and foolish, fidgeted with his cap, and glanced first at Bess and then at his father. Old Ursula had the corner of her apron between her teeth. She was wavering betwixt greed and love for Bess, her foster-child.
Isaac gave his son a sudden, fierce glance and a whispered command. Dan edged across the room towards Bess. In a flash she had picked up a heavy stool, and stood at bay behind the table.
“Come at me, Dan,” she cried, “and I’ll kill ye.”
There was a sudden squeak from old Ursula. She had flung open the door that closed the stairs, the love in her overmastering the greed for gold.
“Bess,” she squealed, “quick, lass, the door’s open. Dan, you great coward, back, keep your hands off her. I’ll have no bullying in my cottage.”
Bess had flung the stool at Dan, turned and darted towards Ursula. She kissed the beldam, and fled up the stairs, while the old woman closed the door on her and covered it with her body.
“Brother Isaac,” she said, with a certain dignity that became her gray hairs well, “I’ll have no bullying in my cottage. Let Dan win the girl like a man, and not like a coward. You shall not have Bess to-night save over my body.”
Dan slunk back behind his father, who was looking at his sister with a peculiar smile. He rubbed his hands together, his white hair falling benignantly about his face.
“There, there, dame,” he said, mildly, “don’t put yourself out about the wench. We mean no harm by her, and she shall not be browbeaten. Come, son, you must wait and try what patience will do. Good-night, old lady. Bess can go to sleep in peace.”