ing, as she watched the
instant's grappling of the two, followed by a lurching tumble over
the side of the car to the planking. The fall knocked them apart, and
for the space of a few quick breaths they half rose and faced each
other--the one almost crazed with fury, the other steady, calm, but
terrifyingly determined.

Before Patsy could move they were upon each other again--rolling
about in the dust, clutching at each other's throat--now half under
the car, now almost through the girders of the bridge, with Patsy's
voice crying a warning. Again they were on their feet, grappling and
hitting blindly; then down in the dust, rolling and clutching.

It was plain melodrama of the most banal form; and the most
convincing part of it all was the evident personal enmity that
directed each blow. Somehow it was borne in upon Patsy that her share
in the quarrel was an infinitesimal part; it was the old, old scene
in the fourth act: the hero paying up the villain for all past
scores.

Like the scene in the fourth act, it came to an end at last. The time
came when no answering blow met the tinker's, when the hand that
gripped his throat relaxed and the body back of it went down under
him--breathless and inert. Patsy climbed out of the car to make room
for the stowing away of its owner. He was conscious, but past
articulate speech and thoroughly beaten; and the tinker kindly turned
the car about for him and started him slowly off, so as to rid the
road of him, as Patsy said. It looked possible, with a careful
harboring of strength and persistence, for him to reach eventually
the starting-point and his friend of the post-office. As his trail of
dust lengthened between them Patsy gave a sigh of relieved content
and turned to the tinker.

"Faith, ye are a sight for a sore heart." Her hand slid into his
outstretched one. "I'll make a bargain with ye: if ye'll forgive and
forget the unfair things I said to ye that night I'll not stay hurt
over your leaving without notice the next morning."

"It's a bargain," but he winced as he said it. "It seems as if our
meetings were dependent on a certain amount of--of physical
disablement." He smiled reassuringly. "I don't really mind in the
least. I'd stand for knockout blows down miles of road, if they would
bring you back--every time."

"Don't joke!" Patsy covered her face. "If--if ye only knew--what it
means to have ye standing there this minute!" She drew in her breath
quickly; it soun