But at last his sense of wrong pricked passion, and he stirred himself. Most firmly he believed all fault lay with Maybridge alone, and he attributed to that youth a guile and subtlety quite beyond his real powers of mind. Dick accused his rival of having seduced the love of Jane against her inner will—a thing obviously not possible; and upon that judgement he prepared to act. For her part, the girl let conscience sting until the stab grew dull and failed to disturb her comfort. Each exhibition of ferocity from Richard lessened her uneasiness, and justified her in her own eyes. She plotted to meet the other man in secret; yet still she played a double part, and outwardly pretended that Dick was all in all to her. So stood things when Mary Daccombe spoke to her son; and his father’s advice seemed good to the man, and chimed very harmoniously with personal desire, for he had reached a point where he itched to bruise and batter his adversary. Chance helped him in his ambition, and a discovery fired him to instant force of arms. Returning home from the Moor upon a night when it was supposed that he meant to stop in his hut on the warren, Richard came through the ruins, and was astonished to see a light glimmering from the silent desolation. It had grown late on a cold, moonlit night in late January, and nothing could have been more unexpected than the presence of any human being in the old powder-mills at such a time. Supposing that he had surprised his brother Davey, Dick crept silently to the spot, and presently discovered that the brightness gleamed in two bars set at a right angle, and flashed from behind the door of a ruin. The place was windowless, but the ill-fitting entrance revealed a flame within. Richard recognised the building as Case House No. 4, and at once associated the intruder with his brother. Even as he did so, his heart beat faster at the thought of danger—not to Davey, but himself. Creeping closer, however, voices reached him, and he discovered that Anthony Maybridge and Jane Stanberry were there together. Tingling with passion, he had some ado to keep from kicking in the door and bursting upon them; but he desisted, and with an effort crept away to reflect. Almost immediately upon his departure he heard them following, so he turned and met them not far from the little bridge. “A fine night for a walk wi’ another man’s girl,” he said, suddenly appearing out of darkness and standing in the way of the guilty pair. “You thought I was out of hearing, no doubt, as you’ve thought often enough of late, I’ll swear, when I was closer than you reckoned. For two pins I’d blow your fool’s head off your shoulders.” Jane shrank back, and Maybridge stammered and stuttered. “That’s not the way to talk,” he said. “Talk! God’s truth, I ban’t here to talk—I leave that for you. What be you doing wi’ my maid these many days? Tell me that!”