“Were you drunk when you committed this assault?” Jonathan asked his son.

“I drank afterwards,” Robert replied.

“‘Pilot’ brandy’s poor consolation,” remarked Mr. Sedgett.

Jonathan had half a mind to turn his son out of the gate, but the presence of Sedgett advised him that his doings were naked to the world.

“You kicked up a shindy in the hunting-field—­what about?  Who mounted ye?”

Robert remarked that he had been on foot.

“On foot—­eh? on foot!” Jonathan speculated, unable to realize the image of his son as a foot-man in the hunting-field, or to comprehend the insolence of a pedestrian who should dare to attack a mounted huntsman.  “You were on foot?  The devil you were on foot!  Foot?  And caught a man out of his saddle?”

Jonathan gave up the puzzle.  He laid out his fore finger decisively,—­

“If it’s an assault, mind, you stand damages.  My land gives and my land takes my money, and no drunken dog lives on the produce.  A row in the hunting-field’s un-English, I call it.”

“So it is, sir,” said Robert.

“So it be, neighbour,” said Mr. Sedgett.

Whereupon Robert took his arm, and holding the scraggy wretch forward, commanded him to out with what he knew.

“Oh, I don’t know no more than what I’ve told you.”  Mr. Sedgett twisted a feeble remonstrance of his bones, that were chiefly his being, at the gripe; “except that you got hold the horse by the bridle, and wouldn’t let him go, because the young gentleman wouldn’t speak as a gentleman, and—­oh! don’t squeeze so hard—­”

“Out with it!” cried Robert.

“And you said, Steeve Bilton said, you said, ‘Where is she?’ you said, and he swore, and you swore, and a lady rode up, and you pulled, and she sang out, and off went the gentleman, and Steeve said she said, ’For shame.’”

“And it was the truest word spoken that day!” Robert released him.  “You don’t know much, Mr. Sedgett; but it’s enough to make me explain the cause to my father, and, with your leave, I’ll do so.”

Mr. Sedgett remarked:  “By all means, do;” and rather preferred that his wits should be accused of want of brightness, than that he should miss a chance of hearing the rich history of the scandal and its origin.  Something stronger than a hint sent him off at a trot, hugging in his elbows.

“The postman won’t do his business quicker than Sedgett ’ll tap this tale upon every door in the parish,” said Jonathan.

“I can only say I’m sorry, for your sake;” Robert was expressing his contrition, when his father caught him up,—­

“Who can hurt me?—­my sake?  Have I got the habits of a sot?—­what you’d call ‘a beast!’ but I know the ways o’ beasts, and if you did too, you wouldn’t bring them in to bear your beastly sins.  Who can hurt me?—­You’ve been quarrelling with this young gentleman about a woman—­did you damage him?”