"I don't mean the ogres, you little coward; I mean the gallant knights."

"Why, we began to think we had missed you," cried Lord Artingale, who, with Mr Perry-Morton, met them at a turn of the road, the latter gentleman's patent leather shoes being a good deal splashed, in spite of the care with which he had picked his way.

"Oh, Mr Perry-Morton," cried Cynthia, ignoring Artingale, and, with a mischievous light in her eye, addressing their artistic friend, "my sister has been so shamefully insulted by a great big man."

"Who? where? my dear Miss Julia? Where is the scoundrel?" cried Perry-Morton, excitedly.

"Just down the road a little way," said Cynthia. "I hope you will go and beat him well."

"A big scoundrel of a fellow?" cried Mr Perry-Morton.

"Yes, and he looks like a gipsy," said Cynthia, innocently. "He said something so insulting to my sister."

"Hush, pray, Cynthia," cried the latter, faintly.

"Oh, poor girl, she is going to faint. Miss Mallow, pray look up. I am here. Take my arm. Let me hasten with you home. This scoundrel shall be pursued, and brought to justice."

"I am better now," said Julia, speaking more firmly. "No, thank you, Mr Perry-Morton, I can walk well enough."

"Oh, I cannot leave you like this, dear Miss Julia," whispered Perry-Morton, while Cynthia's eyes were sparkling with malicious glee, as she turned them upon Artingale, whose face, however, startled her into seriousness, as he caught her arm, gripping it so hard that it gave her pain.

"Tell me, Cynthia," he said, hoa.r.s.ely, "what sort of a fellow was this?"

"A big, gipsy-looking man, and there was a dirty-looking fellow with him," faltered the girl, for her lover's look alarmed her. "But stop, Harry; what are you going to do?"

"Break his cursed neck--if I can," cried Artingale, in a low, angry growl.

"No, no: don't go," she whispered, catching at him. "You may be hurt."

"One of us will be," he said, hoa.r.s.ely.

"But, Harry, please!"

She looked at him so appealingly that he took her hands in his.

"Cynthia--my darling!" he whispered; and if they had been alone he would have caught her in his arms.

But they were not alone, and bending down he whispered--

"You have made me so happy, but you would not have me be a cur. Take your sister home."

Without another word he turned and started off down the lane at a trot, Cynthia watching him till he was out of sight.

"Oh, Harry! If you are hurt!" she whispered to herself; and then, recalling her sister's trouble, she ran to her side, where Perry-Morton was making a pretence of affording support that was not required.

"We can soon get home, Mr Perry-Morton," said Cynthia, with the malicious look coming back into her eyes, and chasing away one that was very soft and sweet. "Wouldn't you like to go after Lord Artingale?"

"What! and leave you two unprotected?" said the apostle, loudly. "No, I could not, to save my life."

He did not, but attended the ladies right up to the rectory, sending their father into a fury, and then leading a party of servants to the pursuit of the tramps, as they were dubbed, but only to meet Lord Artingale at the end of a couple of hours returning unsuccessful from his chase.

For he had not seen either of the fellows, from the fact that as soon as the ladies had gone they had quietly entered the wood, to lie down amongst the mossy hazel stubbs, from which post of vantage they had seen the young man go by.

"Hadn't we better hook it, Jock?" said the lesser vagabond.

"Hook it? No. What for? We haven't done nothing agen the lor."

There was hot indignation at the rectory, and Frank and Cyril went straight to Tom Morrison's cottage, frightening the wheelwright's wife, and making her look paler as she took refuge with Budge in the back, only coming forward after repeated summonses, and then keeping the girl with her, as she said, truthfully, that Jock Morrison had not been there for days.

"What's the matter?" said Tom, coming from his workshop, and looking sternly at the two visitors.

"Matter!" cried Frank, fiercely; "we want that brother of yours; he has been insulting my sister."

"Then you had better find him and punish him," said Tom, coldly.

"Where is he?"

"You are a parson's sons," said Tom, bitterly, "and ought to know Scripture. 'Am I my brother's keeper?'"

"Look here, you Tom Morrison," cried Frank, "no insolence; I've only just come back home, but while I stay I'll not have my sisters insulted by a blackguard family who have got a hold in the parish, and do it out of spite because my father could not act as they wanted."

"Out of my place!" roared Tom, fiercely. "How dare you bring up that, you coward!"

"Tom! Tom! oh, for my sake, pray!" cried Polly, throwing herself upon his breast just as he was about to seize Cyril, who had stepped before his brother.

"Well, for thy sake, yes," said Tom, pa.s.sing his arm round his wife.

"Frank and Cyril Mallow, don't come to my place again, or there may be mischief."

"Do you dare to threaten us, you dog?" cried Frank.

"He ought to know what a magistrate's power--" began Cyril, but he glanced at Polly and checked himself. "Here, come away, Frank. Look here, Tom Morrison, where is your brother Jock?"

"I don't know," said Tom, sternly, "and if I did I should not tell you.

This is my house, gentlemen, and I want neither truck nor trade with you and yours."

"I'll have you both flogged," cried Frank. "A pretty thing that two ladies can't go along the lanes without being insulted! By Gad, if--"

"Look here," said Tom Morrison, stoutly, "who are you and yours that they are not to be spoken to? How long is it since a respectable girl couldn't hardly walk along one of our lanes for fear of being insulted by the parson's sons? I tell you--"

"Tom! Tom!" moaned Polly, "I--I--"

"Hush, bairn!" he whispered, and Frank hustled his brother out of the cottage, angrily threatening punishment to the brothers Morrison before many days were over their heads, and went back to the rectory, where Mr Perry-Morton informed Lord Artingale, in confidence, that he would have liked to delete such creatures as that ruffian. They were only blurs, spots, and blemishes upon the face of this beautiful earth, marring its serenity, and stealing s.p.a.ce that was the inheritance of those who could appreciate the gift.

"I can handle my fists," said Artingale, in reply, "for we had a good fellow to teach us, and nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to have had ten minutes' interview with that blackguard."

"It is very brave and bold of you," said Mr Perry-Morton, holding his too fleshy head up with one white hand, as it drooped sidewise, and supporting his elbow with another white hand, as he gazed at him with a kindly, patronising, smiling pity, "but it would be better to hand him over to the police."

"Oh, the police might have had him when I had done with him," said the young man, nodding. "I should have liked to have had my bit of satisfaction first."