There was a simple dignity about her as she uttered the words that carried an irresistible appeal to Frances. Shaking as she was with agitation, the girl asserted her right of womanhood with a decision that none might question. Arthur did not attempt to question it. He merely lifted a hand and pointed to the door. “All right,” he said. “You can go—you and your mate. And you will never enter Tetherstones again.” He did not look at Oliver. He had scarcely looked at him from the outset. But at that the young man’s wrath boiled over, and he compelled attention. “You think that you and your blasted Tetherstones count a couple of damns with either of us, do you?” he said. “You think that because poor Nan broke her heart here, we’d be pining to do the same! You’re a damn’ fool, Arthur, that’s what you are. And now I’ve got what I want, I take pleasure in telling you so. You’re too grand a swell to fight the likes of me. You don’t fight your own labourers! No, I thought not. But you can’t prevent ’em telling you the truth or taking a woman out of your family and giving her happiness—common or garden happiness—in place of this infernal mass of corruption you’re pleased to call your family honour. I’ve got my honour too, but it’s not your sort, thank God. I’m just a plain man, and I’ve no frills of any kind. But I’ve got the right to marry the girl who loves me, and there’s no one on this earth can come between us now. If they think they can, well, let ’em try, that’s all. Just let ’em try!” He moved with the words, and pulled Maggie to him, pressing her close to his side. But his eyes remained upon Arthur, hot with anger and superbly contemptuous of the other man’s superior strength. Arthur stood motionless. His look was turned upon Oliver, but he made no attempt whatever to check the fierce torrent of words so forcibly poured out. To Frances he had the look of the gladiator sorely wounded yet holding his ground for the sake of that honour which Oliver so bitterly denounced. And her heart went out to the man in sudden wild rush of sympathy that seemed to sweep away all rational thought. She found herself on her feet and quivering with a burning desire to help him in some way, though how she knew not. The deadly pallor of his face, the awful fixity of his eyes, were more than she could bear. He spoke—this time to Oliver but he did not deign to waste a single word in answer to the furious challenge hurled at him. “Let me see your marriage certificate!” he said. His words fell with the utmost calm and Frances wondered if she were the only one in the room who knew how cruelly deep was his wound. Oliver drew a hard angry breath, as though he found himself unexpectedly held in check by some force unknown. He stared for a moment, then with a sullen air thrust a hand inside his coat. He brought out a paper which he flung down in front of Arthur. “There you are. You’ll find it all in order,” he said. “You won’t undo that knot in a hurry.”