val--but he had begun the task. Rough
and bitter though the schooling was, in no better way could the lesson
have been taught than in that school of adversity through which he was
now passing.

"When you've quite finished," said Paul, as they once more came to a
pause, "I would like to go on my way."

"Where? To the sand-pit?" came a voice.

"No; he'd rather keep away from that. He'll always give that a pretty
wide berth," some one answered.

"Why not take him there? He doesn't know what a nice place it is for a
picnic."

The suggestion was hailed with delight.

"The sand-pit--the sand-pit!" was the cry.

Immediately a rush was made for Paul. It was more than flesh and blood
could stand. Paul had kept wonderfully calm and cool up to the moment;
but directly they tried to put hands upon him he struck out right and
left. With so much vigour did he strike that he might have made his way
through the howling, struggling pack, but just at the moment he had got
himself free, Mellor, who was one of those who had been knocked to the
ground, caught him by the legs and brought him with a crash to the
ground.

"On him--on him!" was the cry.

"Back--back! Cowards all!"

At the instant they were about to seize Paul a figure dashed into their
midst, scattering the struggling pack to right and left.

CHAPTER XX

WYNDHAM AGAIN TO THE RESCUE

"Back, back! Twelve to one--cowards, cowards!"

The Bedes fell back as the youth fell among them, and cleared a passage
to Paul. Paul, momentarily stunned by his fall, breathed freely again,
and leapt to his feet.

"Why, it's Percival!" said the new-comer. "Are you hurt?"

Paul could scarcely believe his eyes, as he found himself again
confronting Gilbert Wyndham.

"No, thanks," he answered stiffly.

He would rather have been indebted to any one than to Wyndham. He had
wished to clear off the debt between them, but instead of that he found
himself more indebted to him than ever. For a second time he had been
placed under an obligation to him.

"You don't see who it is, Wyndham," came a voice from the ranks of the
Bedes, disappointed of their prey. "It's a Gargoyle--the wretched
Gargoyle who showed such a clean pair of heels at the sand-pit."

"Yes, I do see who it is; but, whoever he is, that's no reason why a
dozen of you should set on him at once. That's not fair play, Murrell."

"Half a dozen of 'em set on me," came the voice of Mellor. "What's good
enough for