Savagery in savage days had its
excuse. This is the beast sunk into the gibbering, degenerate ape."
Penzance came and spent hours of each day with him. Part of his rage
was the rage of a man, but he was a boy still, and the boyishness of his
bitterly hurt youth was a thing to move to pity. With young blood, and
young pride, and young expectancy rising within him, he was at an hour
when he should have felt himself standing upon the threshold of the
world, gazing out at the splendid joys and promises and powerful deeds
of it--waiting only the fit moment to step forth and win his place.
"But we are done for," he shouted once. "We are done for. And I am as
much done for as they are. Decent people won't touch us. That is where
the last Mount Dunstan stands." And Penzance heard in his voice an
absolute break. He stopped and marched to the window at the end of the
long room, and stood in dead stillness, staring out at the down-sweeping
lines of heavy rain.
The older man thought many things, as he looked at his big back and
body. He stood with his legs astride, and Penzance noted that his right
hand was clenched on his hip, as a man's might be as he clenched
the hilt of his sword--his one mate who might avenge him even when,
standing at bay, he knew that the end had come, and he must fall.
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