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 ship, 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 ship."

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."

The name of the police sounded terribly in Myra's ears.

"The _Good Intent_ will be sailing to-nig