there are princes in that land whom I have assisted to their thrones; and if, on behalf of a friend, I ask of them some slight thing, provided it be honest—­’tis the first law of friendship, says Tully, as you will remember, to seek honest things for our friends—­if, I say, on your behalf, I proffer some slight request, sure the nawabs will vie to pleasure me, and the foundation of your fortune will be laid.”

Desmond had not observed that, during this eloquent passage, Diggle had more than once glanced beyond him, as though his mind were not wholly occupied with his oratorical efforts.  It was therefore something of a shock that he heard him say in the same level tone: 

“But I perceive your brother approaching.  I am not the man to cause differences between persons near akin; I will therefore leave you; we will have further speech on the subject of our discourse.”

He moved away.  A moment after, Richard Burke came up in a towering passion.

“You brave me, do you?” he cried.  “Did I not forbid you to converse with that vagabond?”

“You have no right to dictate to me on such matters,” said Desmond hotly, facing his brother.

“I’ve no right, haven’t I?” shouted Richard.  “I’ve a guardian’s right to thrash you if you disobey me, and by George!  I’ll keep my promise.”

He lifted the riding whip, without which he seldom went abroad, and struck at Desmond.  But the boy’s blood was up.  He sprang aside as the thong fell; it missed him, and before the whip could be raised again he had leaped towards his brother.  Wrenching the stock from his grasp, Desmond flung the whip over the hedge into a green-mantled pool, and stood, his cheeks pale, his fists clenched, his eyes flaming, before the astonished man.

“Coward!” he cried, “’tis the last time you lay hands on me.”

Recovered from his amazement at Desmond’s resistance, Richard, purple with wrath, advanced to seize the boy.  But Desmond, nimbly evading his clutch, slipped his foot within his brother’s, and with a dexterous movement tripped him up, so that he fell sprawling, with many an oath, on the miry road.  Before he could regain his feet, Desmond had vaulted the hedge and set off at a run towards home.  Diggle was nowhere in sight.

The die was now cast.  Never before had Desmond actively retaliated upon his brother, and he knew him well enough to be sure that such an affront was unforgivable.  The farm would no longer be safe for him.  With startling suddenness his vague notions of leaving home were crystallized into a resolve.  No definite plan formed itself in his mind as he raced over the fields.  He only knew that the moment for departure had come, and he was hastening now to secure the little money he possessed and to make a bundle of his clothes and the few things he valued before Richard could return.

Reaching the Grange, he slipped quietly upstairs, not daring to face his mother, lest her grief should weaken his resolution, and in five minutes he returned with his bundle.  He stole out through the garden, skirted the copse that bounded the farm inclosure, and ran for half a mile up the lane until he felt that he was out of reach.  Then, breathless with haste, quivering with the shock of this sudden plunge into independence, he sat down on the grassy bank to reflect.