Part 21 (2/2)

There was a bewildered horror in his eyes, and it cut Hester to the heart.

Her own eyes sank as he challenged them.

”No, Sam--no!” Mrs. Purchase interposed. ”Don't 'ee go to punish the lad that way. He've made a mistake; but he's a well-meanin' lad for all, and I'll wage he'll tell you he's sorry.”

”Well-meaning, is it, to come here bullying a young lady? Sorry, is he? I promise he'll be sorrier before I've done. Answer me, sir. Did Mrs.

Butson know of your visit here to-day?”

”I told her I was coming,” Tom answered dully.

”That settles it. Heaven is my witness,” said Mr. Sam, with sudden unction, ”I was willing to let the old woman wind up her affairs in peace.

But mutiny I don't stand, nor molesting. You go home, sir, to your mother, and tell her my words. I give her till Sat.u.r.day--”

The words ended in a squeal as Tom, with a sharp intake of breath like a sob, sprang and gripped him by the throat, bearing him back and overturning Hester's desk with a crash. One or two of the girls began to scream. The boys scrambled on top of their forms, craning, round-eyed with excitement. The little ones stood up with white faces, shrinking with terror, as Hester ran and placed herself between them and the struggle.

”You cur! You miserable--dirty--cur!” panted Tom, shaking Mr. Sam to and fro. ”Leave me alone, missus!”--for Mrs. Purchase was attempting to clutch him by the collar. ”Leave me deal with him, I tell you!

Stand clear, there!”

With a sharp thrust he loosened his hold, and Mr. Sam went flying backwards, missed his footing, and fell, his head striking the corner of a form with a thud.

”Get up! Up on your legs, and have it out like a man!”

But Mr. Sam lay where he had fallen in a heap, with the blood oozing from an ugly cut across the left temple.

”Get up?” vociferated Mrs. Purchase. ”Lucky for you if he ever gets up!

You've gone nigh to killing 'en, mean it or no. Out of my sight, you hot-headed young fool! Be off to the s.h.i.+p, pack up your kit, and run.

'Tis a jailin' matter, this; and now you've done for yourself as well as your mother.”

For a moment the young man stared at her, not seeming to comprehend.

”Eh, missus?” he muttered. ”Be you agen' me too?”

Mrs. Purchase positively laughed, and a weird cackling sound it made in Hester's ears as she bent to support one of the smaller girls, who had fainted. ”Agen' you? Take an' look around on your mornin's work!

You've struck down my brother's son, Tom Trevarthen--isn't that enough?

Go an' pack your kit; I'll have no jail-birds aboard my s.h.i.+p.”

He turned and went. On the way his foot encountered Mr. Sam's tall silk hat, and he kicked it viciously through the doorway before him.

”Tom!”

Until the call had been repeated twice behind him Tom Trevarthen did not hear. When, after a stupid stare at his hands (as though there had been blood on his knuckles), he turned to the voice, he saw Myra speeding bareheaded to overtake him. She beckoned him to stop.

”What will you do, Tom?” she panted, as he waited for her to come up.

”Me, missy? Well, I hadn't given it a thought; but now you mention it, I s'pose I'd better cut. 'Tis a police job, most like, as your aunt said.

But never you mind for me.”

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