ran me in upon his bow,” he cried.

“It was a coward blow,” returned Matcham. “Y’ are but a lout and bully, Master Dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see you truckle at his boot! Ye care not for vengeance, neither—for your father’s death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice. But if there come but a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!”

Dick was too furious to observe that “she.”

“Marry!” he cried, “and here is news! Of any two the one will still be stronger. The better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well served. Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill-guidance and unthankfulness to me-ward; and what ye deserve ye shall have.”

And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt.

“Here shall be your supper,” he said grimly.

Matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a 69 sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the face, and never moved. Dick took a step, swinging the belt. Then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion. His courage began to subside.

69

“Say ye were in the wrong, then,” he said lamely.

“Nay,” said Matcham, “I was in the right. Come, cruel! I be lame; I be weary; I resist not; I ne’er did thee hurt; come, beat me, coward!”

Dick raised the belt at this last provocation; but Matcham winced and drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed him yet again. The strap fell by his side, and he stood irresolute, feeling like a fool.

“A plague upon thee, shrew!” he said. “An ye be so feeble of hand ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. But I’ll be hanged before I beat you!” and he put on his belt again. “Beat you I will not,” he continued; “but forgive you?—never. I knew ye not; ye were my master’s enemy; I lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y’ have called me a man o’ wood, a coward, and a bully. Nay, by the mass! the measure is filled and runneth over. ’Tis a great thing to be weak, I trow: ye can do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man’s weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own 

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