"What a heavenly spot!" said Mrs. Poynter.

She looked up through the overhanging trees to the blue expanse of the sky beyond.

Lord Ambert had chosen this place for his tea with most consummate care and a very artistic eye. Elfrida told him so on her arrival—which was late; she was, in fact, the very last to appear upon the scene.

She was very delightful to everybody during tea, however, and quite subjugated two young men from the barracks in the next town. If she was cold to Ambert, it was in such a careful manner that no one understood it but himself.

After tea the party broke up. Here and there by twos and threes they disappeared into the wood. When Ambert looked round for Elfrida, he found she, too, had gone away somewhere with one of the young soldiers. Certainly she had not waited for him—for him, the man she had promised to marry!

With a heart soured and enraged he turned away, and, plunging through a brake, came out into a level bit of ground beyond. He stood there, thinking a moment. The knowledge that there was no one near him, that he was quite alone, forsaken, in a certain sense, and that she was enjoying herself elsewhere, heightened the sense of vicious anger within his heart.

There was a little rustling among the brambles on his left. Hah! He looked towards the sound, slunk behind a tree, and waited. Fellows after rabbits, of course. He waited quite three minutes, and then a little boy came out, looked eagerly around him, and then whistled softly.

He was quite a little lad, and delicate-looking; he was whistling to a companion, whom he supposed to be some yards away, to come and help him to gather the nuts from some wonderful tree he had seen just now. The companion, however, had probably seen Ambert, who was a terror in the neighbourhood, and had taken to his heels.

But to Ambert just now the boy's guilt seemed sure. And certainly of late the Ambert woods had been poached persistently for rabbits. Well, he could teach the decoy something.

He sprang forward and caught the child by the arm and dragged him into the open. The boy struggled a moment, and then grew very white. Ambert was well known among his tenantry. The smaller members were always sure of one thing from him—a kick, a curse, or a cuff.

He grasped the collar of the boy's coat, and lifted the cane he held. Down it came, and down and down again—a heavy shower of blows on the little fellow's thin shoulders. The boy cried and moaned and wriggled, and every cry and moan gave Ambert joy. It was delightful to him in his present mood to be able to torture somebody; for choice he would have made it Elfrida, but as that could not be, the boy was most convenient.

At length, as the blows grew and grew, the poor little shoulders grew redder and sorer. The boy's cries at last rose into a wild shriek. It was at this moment that Tom Blount, who often made this part of the wood a short-cut to the village when on his rounds amongst his parishioners, came into view.

He stopped for a second as if stricken dumb with amazement; then he ran forward. He knew the boy well—little George Robins! He was indeed very fond of the delicate child. He had a desperately warm heart—poor Blount!

"What are you doing?" cried he in an infuriated voice. It maddened him to hear the child's cries. He crashed through some underwood that lay before him, and, coming up to Ambert, dragged the boy away from him, and flung him behind him. Such a careful flinging—holding the boy until he was steady on his feet, then letting him go.

Ambert turned upon the curate furiously.

"What the devil are you doing here, sir, in my wood? What brought you here to-day? Sneaking, eh?"

"Run home, George," said the curate to the boy, who was standing trembling behind him.

"How dare you interfere!" said Ambert. "That boy shall not go. I have not done with him yet."

"You have done with him! I'll see that you don't touch him again. Why, you've nearly done for him for ever," said he, looking at the boy, who was shaking nervously, and down whose face the blood was streaming from a last cut of Ambert's cane. "To attack a child like that!" cried Blount, fuming—the blood was sickening him. "What do you mean by it, you brute?" Blount had now indeed completely lost his temper.

They were both so enraged that neither of them saw Elfrida as she came slowly from between the bushes. She was accompanied by Dicky Browne, Agatha, and John Dillwyn. This little party stood silent, astonished at what was going on. They were behind the two men, and, standing amongst the tall bracken, could hardly be seen, even had they been in front. Ambert and Blount were very plain to them, and the little trembling child too, with the blood running down his face.

It was here that Ambert, who was a big man, made a movement to push Blount aside, but the curate, though spare, knew a thing or two about boxing. He did something or other to Ambert, and then looked back at the boy.

"Run away, George. Go home; you're all right."

The frightened child, who had been rather stunned at first, now understood him, and, turning, rushed for his home as swift as a hound let loose from his leash.

"You think you have got the better of me," said Ambert, white with rage. His anger raised his voice, and every sound went clearly to where Elfrida was standing. "But I'll be even with you yet. I'll have you up, sir, for trespass. What are you doing on my wood?"

"You seem to know a great deal," said Tom Blount, who was trying to control himself. "But there is one thing you don't know— and that is how to behave yourself as a gentleman."

"Do you think you are qualified to lecture on that subject?" said Ambert, whose rage was now at white heat. "Do you think I don't see through you, you beggar? Do you think I haven't noticed how you laid siege to Miss Robinson, with a view to making yourself comfortable on her fortune?"

"If I weren't a clergyman," said Blount, who was now as white as death, and whose nostrils were dilated, "I'd thrash you within an inch of your life for that speech."

Ambert laughed insultingly.

"It is easy to shield oneself behind one's cloth," said he. Now, this was a little rash of him, but, then, he didn't know it.

"And, of course, I can allow for a little chagrin on your part. Miss Robinson—-"

"Don't bring her into this," said Blount. He drew nearer, and if Ambert hadn't been a fool as well as a coward, he might have seen that the man was dangerous. "Look here—-" He struggled for words to express his rage, but they didn't come.

"And why not?" said Ambert, who was a cur of the first water, and now thought to derive some fun out of the curate. "Of course, I know it is a sore subject. She played with you, didn't she?"— he grinned into the other's face—"as a cat would play with a mouse. But, after all, she wasn't going to throw herself away on" —he paused with the plain design of making his insult worse— "on a common fellow like you!"

He knew Blount was of good family, and he thus purposely affronted him.

"Confound you, sir!" roared the curate. "Say that again, and I'll knock every one of your damned teeth down your throat!"

Ambert laughed in his usual slow, sneering way. He did not believe that Blount would make his word good, he had been so patient up to this—all through his (Ambert's) courtship of Elfrida. "Are you desirous of hearing it again?" said he. He laughed. "After all, what is there to be offended at? You are a common fellow, aren't you?"

Blount took one step forward, and caught him by the collar. Then he wrenched the cane out of his hand, and—well, he enjoyed himself thoroughly for fully five minutes. At the end of that time Ambert was lying on the ground cursing but cowed, and the curate was standing over him. It had been a great five minutes.

"There, get up!" said Blount.

And Ambert rose slowly, sullenly, to his feet.

"You'll hear more of this, sir," said he; but his attempt at dignity was sadly spoiled by the fact that he was covered with dust, and that he had evidently a very strongly-developed desire to keep out of range of Blount.

"Oh, go home!" said the curate contemptuously.

Ambert took his advice. He limped quietly through the trees beyond to where he knew of a side-walk that would take him to his house in ten minutes. He cursed and whimpered as he went. Who was going to explain his absence to his guests? He found a ray of comfort in the thought that Elfrida—that nobody but the curate knew: and he was a big man and the curate nobody; and, of course, as there were no witnesses, the big man's story would be believed.

Of course, if Elfrida had really wished to interfere, it would have been the simplest thing in the world for her to call aloud to Ambert; that would have checked the fracas before it came to any serious proportions; but, oddly enough, after her one protest to Mr. Browne, she had stood looking on, as if spellbound. She had heard everything—seen everything. She had not even shown anger when Dicky went into silent hysterics over Ambert's appearance as he rose from the ground covered with dust and his coat considerably the worse for wear.

As Ambert slunk away between the trees, Mr. Browne darted forward and up to Blount and wrapped him in a warm embrace.

"Blount, how I love you!" cried he sentimentally. "Oh, Tom, what a treat you've given me! You couldn't do it all over again, could you?"

"What the deuce am I to say to the bishop?" said he. He looked quite limp now. The light of battle had died from his eyes.

"Nothing—not a word!" said Dicky. "Do you think that beggar won't be glad to keep his skinning quiet?"

"After all, I shouldn't have thrashed him, Browne. It—it was unclerical—unchristian, you know."

"It was the most Christian act of your life," said Mr. Browne.

"It was an act of martyrdom. Because if you hadn't done it, somebody else would, and so you've saved the soul of another. See?"

"I don't," said Blount. "I ought to have argued with him—borne with him."

"And been trampled under foot by him. Not a bit of it. Come along with me. Elfrida is in here, and she—-"

"Miss Firs-Robinson!" The curate grew crimson. "She—she didn't—-"

"Yes, she did. And a good thing too. Come and speak to her."

"Are you mad?" said Blount. He gathered up his hat and a few other things that had come off during the skirmish—and fled for his life.