our vengeance on.  Adam at this moment could only feel that he had been robbed of Hetty—­robbed treacherously by the man in whom he had trusted—­and he stood close in front of Arthur, with fierce eyes glaring at him, with pale lips and clenched hands, the hard tones in which he had hitherto been constraining himself to express no more than a just indignation giving way to a deep agitated voice that seemed to shake him as he spoke.

“No, it’ll not be soon forgot, as you’ve come in between her and me, when she might ha’ loved me—­it’ll not soon be forgot as you’ve robbed me o’ my happiness, while I thought you was my best friend, and a noble-minded man, as I was proud to work for.  And you’ve been kissing her, and meaning nothing, have you?  And I never kissed her i’ my life—­but I’d ha’ worked hard for years for the right to kiss her.  And you make light of it.  You think little o’ doing what may damage other folks, so as you get your bit o’ trifling, as means nothing.  I throw back your favours, for you’re not the man I took you for.  I’ll never count you my friend any more.  I’d rather you’d act as my enemy, and fight me where I stand—­it’s all th’ amends you can make me.”

Poor Adam, possessed by rage that could find no other vent, began to throw off his coat and his cap, too blind with passion to notice the change that had taken place in Arthur while he was speaking.  Arthur’s lips were now as pale as Adam’s; his heart was beating violently.  The discovery that Adam loved Hetty was a shock which made him for the moment see himself in the light of Adam’s indignation, and regard Adam’s suffering as not merely a consequence, but an element of his error.  The words of hatred and contempt—­the first he had ever heard in his life—­seemed like scorching missiles that were making ineffaceable scars on him.  All screening self-excuse, which rarely falls quite away while others respect us, forsook him for an instant, and he stood face to face with the first great irrevocable evil he had ever committed.  He was only twenty-one, and three months ago—­nay, much later—­he had thought proudly that no man should ever be able to reproach him justly.  His first impulse, if there had been time for it, would perhaps have been to utter words of propitiation; but Adam had no sooner thrown off his coat and cap than he became aware that Arthur was standing pale and motionless, with his hands still thrust in his waistcoat pockets.

“What!” he said, “won’t you fight me like a man?  You know I won’t strike you while you stand so.”

“Go away, Adam,” said Arthur, “I don’t want to fight you.”

“No,” said Adam, bitterly; “you don’t want to fight me—­you think I’m a common man, as you can injure without answering for it.”

“I never meant to injure you,” said Arthur, with returning anger.  “I didn’t know you loved her.”

“But you’ve made her love you,” said Adam.  “You’re a double-faced man—­I’ll never believe a word you say again.”