The Man with a Shadow. Fenn George Manville

you interfere with me, or, by God, sir! I’ll give you the most cursed horsewhipping I ever gave man in my life. By George! if it wasn’t for your white neck-cloth and black coat, hang me. I’d do it now.”

      He extended one hand, as if to grasp the curate’s collar, and raised his hunting-whip menacingly; but in an instant it was whisked out of his hand, and sent flying.

      “You object to my white tie and black coat, eh, Tom Candlish?” said the curate, rapidly throwing them off and across a neighbouring oak branch; “there, then, for the time being they shall not afflict your eyes or put me out of your reach. Now then, we are on equal terms. Strip off that scarlet coat, you miserable popinjay.”

      “What do you mean?” cried Tom Candlish, turning mottled in the face.

      “I mean, sir, that words are no use to such a scoundrel as you: that a curate is also a man. In this case he is the lady’s brother, and in addition there are a score of insults to wipe away. Take off your coat.”

      “What!” cried Tom Candlish, with a sneering laugh. “Look here – do you know that I can fight?”

      “I know you were in a blackguardly prize-fight, sir, in a ring where your opponent was a sort of champion of the Bilston colliers.”

      “Yes, so put on your coat and go home while you’re safe.”

      “And I know that I have not clenched my fist in anger, sir, since I left Oxford, twelve years ago; but if you had beaten Tom Sayers it would not move me now. One of us two does not leave this wood without a sound thrashing, and, please goodness, that’s going to be you.”

      The Reverend Hartley Salis, M.A., rapidly rolled up his shirt-sleeves over his white arms; while it was observable that the nearly new scarlet hunting-coat worn by handsome Tom Candlish, of Candlish Hall, came off very slowly, possibly on account of its excellent fit.

      Chapter Five.

      The Doctor’s Patients Want him at Home

      “Ah! Horace, old man, back again?”

      “Yes. I should have come on sooner, but I – Hallo! gloves! Why, what’s the matter with your hands?”

      “Oh! nothing. Rubbed the skin off my knuckles. That’s all.”

      “Humph!” said the curate’s visitor – Horace North; and there was a curious twinkle in his eyes. “I say, I should have been over sooner, but I found a letter from Luke Candlish, asking me to go across to the Hall, as his brother was unwell.”

      “Oh!” said the curate quietly.

      “Went over and found the squire nearly drunk. He’s killing himself fast.”

      “They’re a nice pair,” said the curate grimly.

      “More shame for you to say so,” cried North. “They’re your moral patients. You ought to improve them.”

      “Yes,” said the curate drily.

      “The squire was sober enough, though, to tell me that his brother had had a nasty accident – was going to the meet yesterday, when his horse bolted with him, and somehow raced off into Red Cliff Wood, where Tom was only able to check him right up at the top there, where the beast threw him and he fell crashing down from the top of the cliff to the bottom.”

      “Into the stream?” said the curate quietly.

      “No; I didn’t hear anything about the stream,” said the doctor. “I went up and found him swearing at one of the maids because she was putting a poultice on his right eye too hot. Then he began to swear at me for not coming sooner. That raised my dander, and I told him I’d give him a dose that would keep him in bed for a month if he wasn’t civil.”

      “Yes?”

      “Well, then he cooled down and sent the maid away.”

      “Yes?”

      “And I went to work. He has had one of the most curious falls I ever met with in practice. His eyes are closed up – beautiful pair of black eyes; lip cut; right canine tooth in upper jaw broken short off; several contusions on the lower jaw; rib broken; and the skin off his knuckles. – Been doing anything to your bees?”

      “Bees? What, this time of year? No. Why?”

      “Cheek looks a little puffy. Curious fall that of Tom Candlish. Looked more like having been in another prize-fight. Let me see your knuckles.”

      “No; they’re all right. Don’t humbug, Horace, old man. You’ve guessed it. I gave him a most awful thrashing.”

      “Bless you, my son!” cried the doctor, clapping him on the shoulder.

      “And I feel miserable at having disgraced myself so.”

      “Nonsense! Church militant. Thrashed a confounded scoundrel. But what for? He has never had the insolence to – ?”

      He gave his head a short nod towards the drawing-room.

      “Yes, and – There, I caught them together. He has been sending notes to her to meet him. I was in a passion, and he insulted me; and – and – ”

      “You pitched into the scoundrel, and you’ve given him the loveliest thrashing a man ever deserved. My dear Salis, you’ve done one of the grandest deeds of your life.”

      “I’m a clergyman, and I’ve behaved like a blackguard.”

      “Nonsense! There’s only one drawback to what you have done.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Did it when I was not there to see the fun. Why, it’s glorious.”

      “I shall never forgive myself.”

      “Then I’ll forgive you. Why, you soft-hearted old parson, you know you cannot touch him and his rascal of a brother with words, and you know that they are the curses of the neighbourhood.”

      “No reason for me to give way to temper, and degrade myself.”

      “Degrade your grandmother, sir! You’ve treated them as the Irish priests treat their flocks. Metaphorically given Tom Candlish the stick. It was your duty, sir, and there’s an end of it.”

      “No; I’m afraid there’s not an end to it. He threatens to go to May.”

      “Bah!”

      “And to lay my conduct before the bishop.”

      “And goes to bed and pretends his horse threw him. Get out, you old humbug; you’ll never hear another word.”

      “I, who wish to live at peace with all men, have made a deadly enemy.”

      “Pooh! He’s a wind-bag. You’ve taken the right course, and nipped that affair in the bud. Does Leo know of it?”

      “Yes.”

      “And Mary?”

      “Not a word, so be careful – hist! some one coming.”

      “May I come in?” said a sweet, musical voice.

      “Come in? Yes,” said the young doctor, leaping up to throw open the door, and greet Mary Salis with a frank smile and so hearty a shake of the hand that she had hard work not to wince. “There, don’t come nearer; I smell of London smoke and blacks. Thank goodness, I’m back home.”

      “The place does not seem the same without you,” said Mary, going behind her brother’s chair, to stand with her hands resting upon his shoulders.

      “I don’t know about the place, but I know I do not feel the same out of it. Must go sometimes, though, to pick up a few facts, or one would be left behind. Did you go to the house?”

      “Yes, and found Mrs Milt very busy.”

      “Bless her! Nice game she has had, Salis. General clear up, and my study turned upside down. Seen old Moredock?”

      “Yes, went yesterday,” said the curate. “The old mail was lying down, and fretting because you were