l as his inclination,
took him to Fellowes's farm, and there Bertha (who for very shame had
not quitted the house since Sunday) first saw the result of the fray.
The stalwart farmer's face was discoloured, and, in places, still
swollen. She saw the wicked handiwork of Lane Protheroe, and vowed
within herself that she would see that dreadful young man no more. She
could have cried for pity of poor Mr. Thistlewood, who had been thus
shamefully treated for the crime of being faithful in love.

If John had known it, he had at this instant the best chance of being
taken as Bertha's husband he had ever had, or was like to find. But
he was shamefaced about the matter, as heroes not uncommonly are with
regard to their achievements, and was disposed to think himself at an
even unusual disadvantage.

Bertha stifled in her heart whatever tender sentiments Protheroe had
inspired, and was prepared to pass him whenever she might meet him with
such a manner as should indicate her new opinion of him beyond chance of
mistake. Thistlewood had appeared on the Saturday, and on the Monday
the fates threw her younger lover in her way. She discerned him from a
distance, herself unseen. His figure dipped down into the hollow, and
she could not see him again until they met at some turning or other of
the tortuous lane. If pride had not forbidden it she could have turned
to fly homewards, but she hardened her heart and went on until his
footsteps sounded clearly on the stony road.

Then he turned the corner, and she lifted one glance of superb disdain
which melted suddenly under a terror-stricken pity. For this hero was
worse battered than Number One had been, and one of those eyes, which
had used to be so expressive and eloquent, was decorated by a shade.

'Oh, Lane!' cried the girl, clasping her hands, and turning white with
pity.

'Did I frighten you, my dear?' said Lane. 'It's nothing. It'll all be
right in a day or two.'

'I hope so,' she answered, recovering herself, and seizing on principle
before it made away for ever. 'I wish you to know that I think you
have behaved very disgracefully, and I hope you will never speak to me
again.'

'Why,' said Lane, 'that's hard measure, Bertha; and as for behaving
disgracefully--if a man threatens to punch your head you must give him
the chance to punch it. That's man's law, anyhow, whether it's woman's
or not.'

'I am sure Mr. Thistlewood is no quarreller,' said Bertha, with great
dignity