"I will come back. You are safe."
If there had been more light she would have seen that his jaw was set
like a bulldog's, and there was a red spark in his eyes--a fearsome one.
But though she did not clearly see, she KNEW, and the nearness of the
last hours swept away all relenting.
Nigel Anstruthers having discreetly waited until the two had passed into
the house, and feeling that a man would be an idiot who did not remove
himself from an atmosphere so highly charged, was making his way toward
the lane and was, indeed, halfway through the gate when heavy feet were
behind him and a grip of ugly strength wrenched him backward.
"Your horse is cropping the grass where you left him, but you are not
going to him," said a singularly meaning voice. "You are coming with
me."
Anstruthers endeavoured to convince himself that he did not at that
moment turn deadly sick and that the brute would not make an ass of
himself.
"Don't be a bally fool!" he cried out, trying to tear himself free.
The muscular hand on his shoulder being reinforced by another, which
clutched his collar, dragged him back, stumbling ignominiously through
the gooseberry bushes towards the cart-shed. Betty lying upon her bed of
hay heard the scuffling, mingled with raging and gasping curses.
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