The next instant Sam was feeling his
own, for he had at last gone too far. Tom had borne till he could bear
no more; and in the anguish of that kick he had forgotten company,
dressing for dinner, everything but the fact that Sam was there, and
quick as lightning he struck him full in the face.

This satisfied him--acting like a discharging rod for his electric rage?

Nothing of the kind: there was a supreme feeling of pleasure in striking
that blow. It, was the outlet of any amount of dammed-up suffering; and
seeing nothing now but his cousin's malignant face, Tom followed up that
first blow with a second, till, throwing his remaining strength into a
blow intended for the last, it took effect, and Sam went over backwards,
flung out his right hand to save himself, and caught and brought down a
great blue china jar, which shivered to pieces on the floor, covering
Sam with fragments, and giving him the aspect of having been terribly
cut, for his nose was bleeding freely.

So was Tom's, as he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass of the hall
table, while his lip had received a nasty cut, and in the struggle the
stains had been pretty well distributed over his face.

But he had no time to think of that, for the crash had alarmed those
up-stairs as well as down, and hurrying steps were heard.

The first to arrive was the cook, who, on reaching the head of the
kitchen stairs, uttered a kind of choking gasp as she saw Sam lying
apparently insensible among the ruins of the china jar.

"Oh, Master Tom, what have you been and done?" she cried.

"Been and done?" came like an angry echo from the landing above, where
Mr Brandon had arrived. But before he could say more there was a
piercing shriek, he was pushed aside, and Mrs Brandon rushed down the
remaining stairs crying wildly--

"Oh, my darling boy! my darling boy! He has killed him--he has killed
him!"

She dropped upon her knees by where Sam lay, apparently insensible; but
uttered a cry of pain and sprang up again, for the broken china was full
of awkward corners.

"Oh, James! James! look what that wicked wretch has done!"

"Look, woman! Do you think I'm blind? That vase was worth fifty
pounds, if it was worth a penny."

"I--I wasn't thinking about the ch-ch-ch-china," sobbed Mrs Brandon,
"but about my darling Sam. Oh, my boy! my boy! don't say you're dead!"

"Don't you make an exhibition of yourself before the servants," cried
her husband angrily. "