Wild Margaret. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ started as if to run across to them, but her heart failed her, and she shrank back against the hedge, looking on with hands clasped, and her face white and terrified.

      The man Pyke was a giant in length and strength, but he was in a rage, and no man who is in a rage can fight well. The young fellow on the other hand was, now, in the best of humor, and thoroughly enjoying himself, and he parried the furious onslaught of his opponent as easily as if he were having a set-to at a gymnasium. The blows grew quicker and smarter, one from the young man had reached Mr. Pyke's face, and had cooled him a little. He saw that if he meant to win he must play more cautiously, and drawing back a little, he began again, with something like calculation. Like the blows of a sledge hammer his fists fell upon the chest of the young fellow, one struck him upon the lip and the blood started.

      With a smile the young man seemed to think that it was time to end the little drama, and planting his left foot firmly forward, he delivered one blow straight from the shoulder. It fell upon the bully's forehead with a fearful crash, and the same instant, as it seemed, he staggered and fell full length to the ground. A murmur of consternation and admiration – for the blow had really been a skillful one – arose from the group of onlookers, and they crowded round the prostrate man.

      "Dang me if I don't think he's killed 'im!" exclaimed the ostler, lifting Jem Pyke's head on his knee.

      "What do you say?" said the young fellow, and, pushing them aside, he bent down and examined his late foe. "No, he's not dead. See, he's coming to already. Get some water, some of you – better still, some brandy. That's it. There you are!" he added, cheerfully, as Pyke opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. "How are you? You ought to have countered that last shot of mine, don't you know. You don't box badly, a little wild, perhaps, but then you were wild, weren't you? and that's always a mistake. Well one of us was bound to win, and there's no harm done, though you've got a bump or two, and" – putting his hand to his own face – "my figurehead isn't improved. There," and under the pretense of shaking the man's hand, he slipped half a sovereign into the wiry palm. "Get yourself a drink – and good-morning," and with a laugh and a nod he was striding across the road, when, seeing the pump at the head of the horse trough, he called to a boy to work the handle, and with his pocket-handkerchief washed his face and head, coming out of the impromptu bath with his short chestnut hair all shining like a Greek god's.

      Then he strolled across the road, and – for the first time became aware that the young girl from the station had been a spectator of the scene.

      He pulled up short within a few paces of her, and the two stood and looked at each other. She had the dog in her arms, and on her face and in her eyes was an expression which baffles my powers of description. It was not fright nor disgust, nor admiration, nor scorn, but a little of each skillfully and most perplexedly mingled. Women hate fighting, when it is inconveniently near to them; on the other hand they love courage, because they have so little of it themselves, and they adore a man who will stand up in defense of one of themselves or a dumb animal.

      The girl had longed to turn and fly at the first sight and sound of the awful blows, but she could not: a horrible fascination kept her chained to the spot, and even when the fray was over she still stood, trembling and palpitating, her color coming and going in turn, her arms quite squeezing the dog in her excitement and emotion.

      The young man looked at her, took in the oval face, with its dark, eloquent eyes and sweet, tremulous lips, the tall, graceful figure, even the plain blue serge, which seemed so part and parcel of that figure; then his glance dropped awkwardly, and he said, shamefacedly:

      "I beg your pardon; I didn't know you were looking on."

      The girl drew a long breath.

      "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said, sternly, with a little catch in her voice.

      He raised his eyes a moment – they were handsome, and, if the truth must be told, dare-devil eyes – then dropped them again.

      "It – it is shameful," she went on, her lovely face growing carmine, her eyes flashing rebukingly, "for two men to fight like – like dogs; and one a gentleman!"

      He looked rather bewildered, as if this view of the proceedings was something entirely novel.

      "Oh, come, you know," he said, deprecatingly, "there isn't much harm done."

      "Not much! I saw you knock him down as if – as if he were dead!" she said, indignantly. "And you – oh, look at your face!" and she turned her eyes away.

      As this was an impossibility, he did the next best thing to it, and put his hand to his cheek and lips.

      "I don't think he's hurt much," he said, excusingly, "and I'm not a bit. I think we rather enjoyed it; I know I did," he added, half inaudibly, and with the beginning of a laugh which was smitten dead as she said, with the air of a judge:

      "You must be a savage!"

      "I – I think I am," he assented, with a rueful air of conviction. "But, all the same, I'm sorry you were here! If I'd known there was a lady looking on I'd have put it off! I'm afraid you've been upset; but don't worry yourself about either of us! Our long-legged friend will be all the better for a little shaking up, and as for me – The dog isn't hurt, is he?"

      "I – I don't know," she said.

      He came a little nearer, and took the dog from her, noticing that in extending it to him she shrank back, as if his touch would pollute her.

      "No; he's all right!" he said, after turning the animal over, and setting him on his legs. "He ought to have some of his ribs broken, but he hasn't! I'm glad of that, poor little beggar," and for the first time his voice softened.

      The girl looked at him with grave displeasure.

      "I am afraid he is the best Christian of the three," she said, severely.

      "By George, I shouldn't wonder!" he muttered, with the ghost of a smile.

      She gave him another glance, then, without a word, raised her head loftily and passed on.

      He lifted his hat and looked after her, then tugged at his mustache thoughtfully.

      "So I'm a savage, am I?" he said. "Well, I expect she's about right! What a beautiful girl! I'm a savage! By George, the old man will say the same if I present myself with this highly-colored physiognomy. I'd better go back to the inn, and turn up later on."

      As he stood hesitating, the fly crawled up with the bag; the man had pulled up within view of the fight, and had enjoyed it thoroughly.

      "Here, wait! I'll go back with you! I've decided to stay at your place for the night," said the young fellow; and he jumped in.

      "Not hurt, I hope, sir?" said the man, as he turned the horse. "It was a right down good fight, sir; it was, indeed!"

      "Not a bit! There, hurry up that four-legged skeleton of yours! I'm as hungry as a – a – savage," he concluded, as if by a happy inspiration, and throwing himself along the cushions, he laughed, but rather uneasily.

      CHAPTER II

      The girl, without looking behind her or vouchsafing even a glance of farewell, walked on until she reached the great iron gates. There she rang the bell which hung like a huge iron tear, within reach of her hand, and on the lodge-keeper coming out, inquired if Mrs. Hale were in.

      "Mrs. Hale? Yes, miss; she is up at the house," said the woman. "You are Miss Margaret, I expect?"

      "Yes," СКАЧАТЬ