anthony maybridge had in truth discovered that everything depends upon the point of view. what was a deed past understanding in one woman, appeared to him quite defensible for another. he had grown into a very steady admiration of jane stanberry, and he told himself that her attachment to the warrener was a serious error. this he firmly believed, apart from the other question of his personal regard for jane. he discussed the matter with a grand impartiality, and felt confident that her future must be ruined if shared with such a surly and cross-grained churl as richard daccombe.
presently he expressed the same fear to jane herself, and she was much astonished to find no great indignation flame up in her mind before such a proposition. she confessed the thought had occurred to her, and asked anthony how it could have struck him also. whereupon he declared that his suspicion was awakened solely from disinterested regard for her welfare and future happiness. in brief, a situation stale enough developed, with that brisk growth to be observed in all similar complications when they are exhibited by primitive natures. p. 236such seeds grow in virgin and uncultured hearts with a rapidity not manifest where the subjects are sophisticated and bound about with the etiquette of their order.
jane stanberry observed the radical differences between these men; she found dick’s cloudy spirit and gloomy nature grow daily darker by contrast with the generous and sanguine temperament of anthony. indeed, richard did grow more morose, as was to be expected, while he watched such a play develop and apparently stood powerless as any other spectator to change the plot of it.
but at last his sense of wrong pricked passion, and he stirred himself. most firmly he believed all fault lay with maybridge alone, and he attributed to that youth a guile and subtlety quite beyond his real powers of mind. dick accused his rival of having seduced the love of jane against her inner will—a thing obviously not possible; and upon that judgement he prepared to act.
for her part, the girl let conscience sting until the stab grew dull and failed to disturb her comfort. each exhibition of ferocity from richard lessened her uneasiness, and justified her in her own eyes. she plotted to meet the other man in secret; yet still she played a double part, and outwardly pretended that dick was all in all to her.
so stood things when mary daccombe spoke to p. 237her son; and his father’s advice seemed good to the man, and chimed very harmoniously with personal desire, for he had reached a point where he itched to bruise and batter his adversary. chance helped him in his ambition, and a discovery fired him to instant force of arms.
returning home from the moor upon a night when it was supposed that he meant to stop in his hut on the warren, richard came through the ruins, and was astonished to see a light glimmering from the silent desolation. it had grown late on a cold, moonlit night in late january, and nothing could have been more unexpected than the presence of any human being in the old powder-mills at such a time. supposing that he had surprised his brother davey, dick crept silently to the spot, and presently discovered that the brightness gleamed in two bars set at a right angle, and flashed from behind the door of a ruin. the place was windowless, but the ill-fitting entrance revealed a flame within. richard recognised the building as case house no. 4, and at once associated the intruder with his brother. even as he did so, his heart beat faster at the thought of danger—not to davey, but himself. creeping closer, however, voices reached him, and he discovered that anthony maybridge and jane stanberry were there together.
tingling with passion, he had some ado to keep p. 238from kicking in the door and bursting upon them; but he desisted, and with an effort crept away to reflect. almost immediately upon his departure he heard them following, so he turned and met them not far from the little bridge.
“a fine night for a walk wi’ another man’s girl,” he said, suddenly appearing out of darkness and standing in the way of the guilty pair. “you thought i was out of hearing, no doubt, as you’ve thought often enough of late, i’ll swear, when i was closer than you reckoned. for two pins i’d blow your fool’s head off your shoulders.”
jane shrank back, and maybridge stammered and stuttered.
“that’s not the way to talk,” he said.
“talk! god’s truth, i ban’t here to talk—i leave that for you. what be you doing wi’ my maid these many days? tell me that!”
“i will. i’m glad of this. i’ve felt an awful brute lately; but you’ll make me feel better in a minute. i’ve been telling jane that she’s making a big mistake to marry you. it’s my honest opinion, and i ought to have told you.”
“honest! wonder the word doan’t choke you, you gert, hulking, lazy clown! behind a man’s back to do it! thief that you be.”
“not at all. i’ve never hidden from jane—”
“shut your mouth, you hookem-snivey fox, or p. 239i’ll hammer your white teeth down your throat! stand up to me, now this instant moment, an’ us’ll see who’s the best man. ’tis time this here woman knowed, an’ i’ll show her the straw you’m made of, for all your size.”
he flung down his gun and his coat, then turned up his sleeves and waited.
“we can’t fight before a girl—impossible,” said anthony.
“doan’t she want us to? ban’t she hungry to see us do it? ban’t she a female, like the rest of ’em? come on, or i’ll beat you like a dog.”
“what’s the good of making an exhibition of yourself, richard? i was ‘runner-up’ in the amateur heavy-weights two years running. i can smother you, but i don’t want to.”
“doan’t blow so loud afore you see what ’tis to fight a chap in the right,” cried richard, with passion.
so we shift our standpoint at the beck of chance, and call virtue to our aid when accidentally enrolled under her banner. he stood where he had lied to his little brother and trampled davey’s fish into the ground and laughed at the child’s rage.
“you’d better go,” said maybridge to jane. “i’m awfully sorry about this, but—”
he was cut short, for the other rushed in and struck him a heavy blow on the side of the face. anthony shook his head and snorted.
p. 240“if you will have it, you shall,” he said; “but i’m sorry, because you’re right and i’m in the wrong—more or less.”
jane fled at the first blow, and the battle began. maybridge quickly proved the looseness of his great limbs was combined with other gifts proper to a boxer. he smarted doubly; from the other’s insults and from the sense that they were deserved. he had ill-used richard, and his dislike for him, once loosened, was proportionately bitter.
stung thus, the young man let his strength and skill have vent. he took and gave some punishment, but he was a disciplined fighter, and very easily kept out the heavy rushes of the keeper. then, at the first opportunity which richard offered, maybridge knocked him squarely off his legs with a tremendous blow over the heart. he rose slowly, but the edge of his strength was gone. his anger nearly blinded him before this reverse, while anthony, on the other hand, had fought himself into a good humour. presently at close quarters he hit rather low, and dick cursed him.
“fight fair, you devil!” he gasped.
“fair enough,” puffed the other. “well up on your small ribs you’ll see the mark in the morning.”
by mutual consent they rested presently; then the battle was renewed, and, knowing himself p. 241beaten at every point of the game, richard daccombe let his temper loose and fell to fighting like a dog rather than a man. now it was the other’s turn to cry caution; but the keeper had no ears—he only lusted to do injury. once maybridge might have knocked him out of time, but he desisted; then, angered by a brutal kick on the calf of the leg, he got inside dick’s arms, clenched, gripped the smaller man like a bear, and with a cross buttock hurled him heavily backward. they had fought to the river’s bank, and now, luckily for the looser’s neck, he fell into the water. he struggled to his feet, and stood a moment where moonlight played upon the foaming stream. then he crawled to the bank, and had scarcely strength to climb it. there he lay panting for some time. anthony brought him his coat, and offered to give him an arm home; but dick declined, and getting on to his feet with difficulty, walked along beside his conqueror.
“this is the beginning,” he said—“not the end. if you don’t leave cross ways before the week’s out, you never will—not alive.”
“don’t talk rot like that. i thought you were a good sportsman anyway, but i see you’re not; and that’s the worst you can say against any man. i was going—god’s my judge that i’m telling you the truth—i was going away to-morrow—for a p. 242time, at any rate. she wished it. but now—now you threaten me as if you were a murderer, i shan’t move, not an inch. and if there’s any blackguardly attempt on your part to do me an injury, i’ll break your neck, daccombe; so now you’re warned. anyway, you have shown that i was right, for any girl would be a madwoman to marry such a lunatic.”
“talk on, now, if you’ve got the wind to do it,” answered richard, “but the last word will be mine.”
