With a terrible imprecation Kendale wheeled about, his grasp around the girl’s waist slackening for a single instant.

And in that instant Margery sprang from him, darting into the arms of her father, who had leaped over the threshold.

“How dare you enter here?” shrieked Kendale, fairly beside himself with baffled rage.

The old cashier thrust his daughter behind him and walked up to the foiled villain, gazing him steadily, unflinchingly in the eye.

“I am here just in time to defend my child,” he cried, white to the lips, “and here to chastise you, you villain, old man as I am”—­and with the rapidity of lightning his clinched fist fell upon the face of the man before him with stinging blows, that resounded with all the strength and force of a steel hammer.

Kendale, who was by this time entirely under the influence of the brandy he had imbibed, was no match for the enraged cashier, who followed up his advantage by ringing blows, which fell as thick and fast as driving hail, until the other, coward as he was, fell down on his knees before him, shrieking out for mercy.

The unusual disturbance soon brought a throng of cashiers, bookkeepers and clerks flocking to the scene.

The old cashier turned upon them, holding up his hand to stay their steps as they crowded over the threshold, Mr. Wright, the manager, calling upon him anxiously to explain at once this unusual scene—­this disgraceful encounter between his employer, who seemed unable to speak because of his injuries, and himself.

“It is due you all to know just what has happened,” replied the old cashier, in a high, clear voice, “but I say to you, by the God above me, if this hound dares arise from his knees ere I have finished, I will kill him before your very eyes.  There is something he has to say before you all while still on his knees.  Let no man speak until I have had my say, and then you—­my companions of years, my fellow-workers, my friends of a lifetime—­shall judge of my action in this matter and deal with me accordingly.”

The scene was so extraordinary that no man among them seemed capable of uttering so much as a syllable, so great was their consternation at beholding their employer on his knees, groveling before the old cashier, who stood over him like an aroused, avenging spirit.

In a voice high and clear the old cashier, whom they had known and revered for years, told his story in a simple, straightforward way, yet quivering with excitement, drawing his terror-stricken daughter Margery into the shelter of his strong arms as he spoke.

“I am Margery’s father—­her only protector,” he said, in conclusion.  “Is there a man among you with a father’s heart beating in his bosom who would not have done as I have done to the villain who dared to thus insult his child.  Ay, there are men among you who would not have hesitated to have stricken him dead with a single blow—­who would have considered it a crime to have spared him.”