sat
up and passed his wet hand over his face. Finally, he staggered to his
feet.

"Well," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders, "it was a fair fight.
I've no complaint to make. I was Jackson's favourite pupil, but I give
you best." Suddenly his eyes lit upon the furious face of the woman.
"Hulloa, Betty!" he cried. "So I have you to thank. I might have guessed
it when I had your letter."

"Yes, my lord," said she, with a mock curtsey. "You have me to thank.
Your little wife managed it all. I lay behind those bushes, and I saw
you beaten like a hound. You haven't had all that I had planned for you,
but I think it will be some little time before any woman loves you for
the sake of your appearance. Do you remember the words, my lord? Do you
remember the words?"

He stood stunned for a moment. Then he snatched his whip from the
ground, and looked at her from under his heavy brows.

"I believe you're the devil!" he cried.

"I wonder what the governess will think?" said she.

He flared into furious rage and rushed at her with his whip. Tom Spring
threw himself before him with his arms out.

"It won't do, sir; I can't stand by."

The man glared at his wife over the prize-fighter's shoulder.

"So it's for dear George's sake!" he said, with a bitter laugh. "But
poor, broken-nosed George seems to have gone to the wall. Taken up with
a prize-fighter, eh? Found a fancy man for yourself!"

"You liar!" she gasped.

"Ha, my lady, that stings your pride, does it? Well, you shall stand
together in the dock for trespass and assault. What a picture--great
Lord, what a picture!"

"You wouldn't, John!"

"Wouldn't I, by--! you stay there three minutes and see if I wouldn't."
He seized his clothes from the bush, and staggered off as swiftly as he
could across the field, blowing a whistle as he ran.

"Quick! quick!" cried the woman. "There's not an instant to lose." Her
face was livid, and she was shivering and panting with apprehension.
"He'll raise the country. It would be awful--awful!"

She ran swiftly down the tortuous path, Spring following after her and
dressing as he went. In a field to the right a gamekeeper, his gun in
his hand, was hurrying towards the whistling. Two labourers, loading
hay, had stopped their work and were looking about them, their
pitchforks in their hands.

But the path was empty, and the phaeton awaited them, the horse cropping
the grass by the lane-side, the driver half asleep on his perch