Welsh maintained his claim until one day, after many hot words with the owner, blows ensued, and the trespasser was badly beaten. He called on Hugh, who was then a large boy of fifteen, for help; but he called in vain, for Hugh had overhead a full recital of his uncle's crimes before the battle began. He heard him accused to his teeth of murdering old Brontë for his money, and of betraying his daughter in order to rob the family of the estate. The misery he had brought to many homes was comprehensively set forth; and Hugh believed his uncle to be absolutely in the wrong in his attempt to take possession of his neighbor's property, and deserving of the beating he received. Besides, this neighbor had always treated Hugh kindly, and had frequently shared with him his collation of bread and milk in the fields in the afternoon. This battle led to important issues. Welsh was carried home bleeding by Gallagher and Hugh, and put to bed. On the following morning he sent for Hugh, and in a choking passion demanded why he had not helped him in the fight. Hugh replied that he considered his uncle in the wrong and any assistance unfair. Inasmuch as Welsh could not get out of bed to chastise him, the boy seized his long-deferred opportunity, and pleaded his case with a courage that surprised himself. He told his uncle that he was a false and cruel bully, who thoroughly merited a beating at the hands of the man he had tried to rob, and, carried away by his rising passion, he informed him that he knew he was not a true Brontë, but a gutter-monster, who had stolen the name, defiantly adding that he hoped before long to avenge his ancestors for the desecration of their name by thrashing him himself. Having delivered this speech Hugh realized that another crisis in his life had arrived. Even the chaff bed in the half-roofed barn would now cease for him. His uncle's house was no longer childless. A son and heir had appeared upon the scene a twelve-month before, and Hugh knew that he had nothing except harsh treatment to expect in the future. He could not even hope, in the event of his uncle's death, to inherit the old Brontë home and restore its fallen fortunes, for a legal heir was now in full possession. His uncle had declared his intention to punish him once for all, as soon as he got well, and a severe beating was his immediate prospect. In a few days Welsh was out of bed and able to move about, his head wrapped in bandages and his two eyes in mourning. Hugh saw that the time had now come for him to shift for himself. He first resolved to fight his uncle, but wisely concluded that, even if victorious, this would only make his position in the house more unendurable. Then he resolved on flight, but how could he fly? If followed and brought back, his state with his uncle would be worse than ever. Besides, he was almost naked, for the few rags that hung around him left his body visible at many points.