“No, Mr. Christian, I do not. I couldn’t come after you in a girl’s heart.” “Why not? You are too modest, Bram.” Perhaps Chris flattered himself that he spoke in his usual tone; but an unpleasant, jeering note was clearly discernible to Bram Elshaw’s ears. Christian went on in a more jarring tone than ever. “Or have you been so far penetrated with the maxims of the Sunday-school that you would not allow a girl a little harmless flirtation?” “Flirtation!” echoed Bram angrily. “It was more than that, Mr. Christian, more than that--to her!” “It was nothing more than that,” said Chris emphatically. “I have done the girl no harm.” Before the words were out of his mouth Bram had sprung forward with the savagery of a wild animal. In the obscurity of the cloudy night his eyes gleamed, and with set teeth and clenched fists he came close to Christian, staring into his eyes, stammering in his vehemence. “If you had,” whispered he almost inaudibly, but with passion which infected Christian and awed him into silence, “If you had done her--any--harm, I’d ha’ strangled you, Mr. Christian. I’d ha’ gone down to t’ works, when you was there, and I’d ha’ taken one o’ t’ leather bands o’ t’ wheels, and I’d ha’ twisted it round your neck, Mr. Christian, and I’d ha’ pulled, and pulled, till I saw t’ eyes start out o’ your head, and t’ blood come bursting out o’ your mouth. And I’d ha’ held you, and tightened it, and tightened it till the breath was out o’ your body!” When he had finished, Bram still stood close to Christian, glaring at him with wild, bloodshot eyes. Christian tried to laugh, but he turned suddenly away, almost staggering. He felt sick and faint. It was Bram who recovered himself first. He confronted Chris quickly, looking ashamed, penitent, abashed. “Ah shouldn’t ha’ said what Ah did,” said he, just in his old voice, as if he had been again a mere hand at the works. “It was not for me to say it, owing what Ah do to you, Mr. Christian. But--by--I meant it all the same.” And again the strange new Bram flashed out for a moment. “And I’m thinking, Mr. Christian,” he went on, resuming the more refined tones of his later development, “that it will be best for me to leave the works altogether, for it can never be the same for you and me after to-night. You can’t forgive me for what I’ve said, and--well, I feel I should be more comfortable away, if it’s the same to you.” There was a pause, hardly lasting more than a few seconds, and then Chris spoke, with a hoarse and altered voice, but in nearly his ordinary tones--