ease." And before he completely realized what was happening,
Hoopdriver was being marched out through the back premises of the inn,
to the first and only fight with fists that was ever to glorify his
life.

Outwardly, so far as the intermittent moonlight showed, Mr. Hoopdriver
was quietly but eagerly prepared to fight. But inwardly he was a chaos
of conflicting purposes. It was extraordinary how things happened. One
remark had trod so closely on the heels of another, that he had had the
greatest difficulty in following the development of the business.
He distinctly remembered himself walking across from one room to the
other,--a dignified, even an aristocratic figure, primed with considered
eloquence, intent upon a scathing remonstrance to these wretched yokels,
regarding their manners. Then incident had flickered into incident until
here he was out in a moonlit lane,--a slight, dark figure in a group
of larger, indistinct figures,--marching in a quiet, business-like way
towards some unknown horror at Buller's yard. Fists! It was astonishing.
It was terrible! In front of him was the pallid figure of Charles, and
he saw that the man in gaiters held Charles kindly but firmly by the
arm.

"It's blasted rot," Charles was saying, "getting up a fight just for a
thing like that; all very well for 'im. 'E's got 'is 'olidays; 'e 'asn't
no blessed dinner to take up to-morrow night like I 'ave.--No need to
numb my arm, IS there?"

They went into Buller's yard through gates. There were sheds in Buller's
yard--sheds of mystery that the moonlight could not solve--a smell
of cows, and a pump stood out clear and black, throwing a clear black
shadow on the whitewashed wall. And here it was his face was to be
battered to a pulp. He knew this was the uttermost folly, to stand up
here and be pounded, but the way out of it was beyond his imagining. Yet
afterwards--? Could he ever face her again? He patted his Norfolk jacket
and took his ground with his back to the gate. How did one square? So?
Suppose one were to turn and run even now, run straight back to the
inn and lock himself into his bedroom? They couldn't make, him come
out--anyhow. He could prosecute them for assault if they did. How did
one set about prosecuting for assault? He saw Charles, with his face
ghastly white under the moon, squaring in front of him.

He caught a blow on the arm and gave ground. Charles pressed him. Then
he hit with his right and with the violence of d