" The
young man raised his slight cane, and smote the artisan across the
face with a stinging stroke. An instant afterwards he lay stretched
in the muddy road, Jem standing over him, panting with rage. What
he would have done next in his moment of ungovernable passion, no
one knows; but a policeman from the main street, into which this
road led, had been sauntering about for some time, unobserved by
either of the parties, and expecting some kind of conclusion like
the present to the violent discussion going on between the two young
men. In a minute he had pinioned Jem, who sullenly yielded to the
surprise.
Mr. Carson was on his feet directly, his face glowing with rage or
shame.
"Shall I take him to the lock-ups for assault, sir?" said the
policeman.
"No, no," exclaimed Mr. Carson. "I struck him first. It was no
assault on his side: though," he continued, hissing out his words
to Jem, who even hated freedom procured for him, however justly, at
the intervention of his rival, "I will never forgive or forget
insult. Trust me," he gasped the words in excess of passion, "Mary
shall fare no better for your insolent interference.
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