There was a decided pause before his victim spoke. She found some
difficulty in grappling with the situation, but she had no intention of
turning her back upon it. She felt it must be tackled with resolution.
After a moment she spoke, with as much sternness as she could muster,
"Why did you throw those stones?"
He backed at the sound of her voice, and she had an instant of sickening
fear, for there was a drop of twenty feet behind him on the shingle. But
he must have seen her look, for he stopped himself on the brink, and
stood there doggedly.
"Don't stand there!" she said quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He lowered his head, and looked at her from under drawn brows. "Yes, you
are," he said gruffly. "You're going to beat me with that stick."
The shrewdness of this surmise struck her as not without humour. She
smiled, and, turning, flung the stick straight down to the path below.
"Now!" she said.
He came forward, not very willingly, and stood within a couple of yards
of her, still looking as if he expected some sort of chastisement.
She faced him, and the last of her fear departed. Though he was so
terribly deformed that he looked like some dreadful beast reared on its
hind legs there was that about the face, sullen though it was, that
stirred her deepest feelings.
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