The old man was adjusting his spectacles; but he took them off and laid them down, his hands shaking with rage.

“You came here to taunt me”—­his voice shook as his hand—­“me, an old man, with no son to my house.  You think, because I’m seeking higher things, there’s no fight left in us or in the parish.  I tell you what; make that boy of yours strip and stand up, and I’ll back the Parson’s youngster for doubles or quits.  Off with your coat, my son, and stand up to him!”

Taffy turned round in a daze.  He did not understand.  His eyes met Honoria’s, and they were fastened on him curiously.  He was white in the face; the sight of the murdered game-cock had sickened him.

“He doesn’t look flourishing.”  Sir Harry mimicked the Squire’s recent manner.

Taffy turned with the look of a hunted animal.  He did not want to fight.  He hated this house and its inhabitants.  The other boy was stripping off his jacket with a good-humoured smile.

“I—­I don’t want—­” Taffy began fumbling with a button.  “Please—­”

“Off with your coat, boy!  You were game enough t’other day.  If you lick en, I’ll put a new roof on your father’s church.”

Taffy was still fumbling with his jacket-button when a bell sounded, clanging through the house.

“The parson!”

Squire Moyle clutched at his Bible like a child who has been caught playing in school.  Sir Harry stepped to the window and flung up the sash.  “Out you tumble, youngsters—­you too, Miss, if you like.  Pick up your coat, George—­cut and run to the stables; I’ll be round in a minute—­quick, out you go!”

The children scrambled over the sill and dropped on to the stone terrace.  As his father closed the sash behind him, George Vyell laughed out.  Then Taffy began to laugh; he laughed all the way as they ran.  When they reached the stables he was swaying with laughter.  There was a hepping-stock by the stable-wall, and he flung himself on to the slate steps.  He could not stop laughing.  The two others stared at him.  They thought he had gone mad.

“Here comes Dad!” cried George Vyell.

This sobered Taffy.  He sat up and brushed his eyes.  Sir Harry whistled for Jim, and told him to saddle the horses.

George and Honoria stood by the stable-door and watched the saddling.  The horses were led out; Sir Harry’s, a tall grey, George’s, a roan cob.

“Look here!” Sir Harry said to Jim; “you take my bird, and comfort your master with him.  I don’t want him any more.”

The two rode out of the yard and away up the avenue.  Honoria planted herself in front of Taffy.

“Would you have fought just now?” she asked.

“I—­I don’t know.  That’s my father calling.”

“But, would you have fought?”

“I must go to him.”  He would not look her in the face.

“Tell me.”

“Don’t bother!  I don’t know.”