By mutual consent they rested presently; then the battle was renewed, and, knowing himself beaten at every point of the game, Richard Daccombe let his temper loose and fell to fighting like a dog rather than a man. Now it was the other’s turn to cry caution; but the keeper had no ears—he only lusted to do injury. Once Maybridge might have knocked him out of time, but he desisted; then, angered by a brutal kick on the calf of the leg, he got inside Dick’s arms, clenched, gripped the smaller man like a bear, and with a cross buttock hurled him heavily backward. They had fought to the river’s bank, and now, luckily for the looser’s neck, he fell into the water. He struggled to his feet, and stood a moment where moonlight played upon the foaming stream. Then he crawled to the bank, and had scarcely strength to climb it. There he lay panting for some time. Anthony brought him his coat, and offered to give him an arm home; but Dick declined, and getting on to his feet with difficulty, walked along beside his conqueror. “This is the beginning,” he said—“not the end. If you don’t leave Cross Ways before the week’s out, you never will—not alive.” “Don’t talk rot like that. I thought you were a good sportsman anyway, but I see you’re not; and that’s the worst you can say against any man. I was going—God’s my judge that I’m telling you the truth—I was going away to-morrow—for a time, at any rate. She wished it. But now—now you threaten me as if you were a murderer, I shan’t move, not an inch. And if there’s any blackguardly attempt on your part to do me an injury, I’ll break your neck, Daccombe; so now you’re warned. Anyway, you have shown that I was right, for any girl would be a madwoman to marry such a lunatic.” “Talk on, now, if you’ve got the wind to do it,” answered Richard, “but the last word will be mine.” CHAPTER VI A black malignity dominated the beaten man after his reverse; and, inasmuch as Jane Stanberry, now at the cross ways of her life, fell from honour and played a base part out of fear, her lover continued to believe that his enemy alone was responsible for Jane’s weakness. He blamed the girl, but his love did not diminish, and he still supposed that Anthony Maybridge once removed, she would return to him with eyes that again saw clearly. He attributed his conqueror’s conduct to a tremendous strength of purpose, whereas mere feebleness and an amorous nature were responsible for it. The woman was at least as guilty as the man; and now an added blame belonged to her, for while Anthony henceforth openly declared himself the rival of Richard, she held the balance a little longer between them—chiefly from fear of Mrs. Daccombe. Her decision was made, yet very carefully she concealed it, and Richard continued in error.