And Furlonger burst into tears. The bar looked disconcerted. Nigel stood leaning up against the table, sobbing and hiccuping. The barmaid offered him her handkerchief, which was strongly scented, and edged with lace. Breame muttered--"We're unaccountable sorry, Mus' Furlonger," and Dunk suggested another brandy. Suddenly Nigel flung round on them, his lips shrinking from his teeth, his eyes blazing. "Damn you!" he cried thickly--"damn you all--you cheap cads--gaping and cringing and pumping--feeding on my misery and my shame--hic ... look at you all grinning ... you're pleased because I'm in hell. You'll go home and gas about me, and say 'poor fellow'--blast you!--I'm better than anything in _Lloyd's_ or the _News of the World_--hic--let me go--you're dirt, all of you--let me go----" He plunged forward, and elbowed his way through them to the door. He was very unsteady, and crashed into the doorpost, bruising his forehead. But at last he was out in the sun-spattered afternoon--with a cool breeze bringing the scent of rain from the forest, and little clouds flying low. CHAPTER VI THICK WOODS When Len and Janey came in from the yard that evening they found Nigel in the kitchen, sitting at the table scowling. His hair was damp on the temples, and his cheeks were flushed. "Hullo, old man!" cried Janey, "when did you come in?" He did not answer, but supplemented his scowl by a grin. It was characteristic of him to scowl and grin at the same time. Len went up to his brother, and looked at him closely and rather sternly. "What have you been up to?" Still Nigel did not speak. Then suddenly he dropped his head, rolling it on his arms. "Is he drunk?" whispered Janey. "What d'you think?" Len tried to pull up his brother's head, but Nigel growled and shook him off. "Nigel!" cried Janey. He made no answer. She tried to slip her hand under his forehead, and lift it. "Nigel, what have you been doing?" He snarled something at her, and she remembered the other awful occasion when she had seen her brother drunk. "Leave him alone, and he'll come to himself," said Len. "It's natural for him to get drunk--he's the sort." "Oh, no, he isn't!--Nigel, come upstairs with me, and let me put something cool on your head." "Damn you!" growled the boy, "leave me alone." "Oh, Nigel, don't hate me--I'm not blaming you--I think I know why you got drunk, and I----" Her sentence was never finished. With a yell of fury he sprang to his feet, knocking over his chair, and seized her in a grip of iron. "Hold your tongue, you ----!" "Oh!" cried Janet. Leonard vaulted across the table, grasped his brother's collar, and struck him on the side of the head. Nigel loosed his grip of Janet, and turned to close with Len, who was, however, much the better man of the two. He forced Nigel down on the table, and proceeded to punish him with all his might. "Apologise, you brute ... beg her pardon on your knees," he shouted.