th restraining hand on her lover's
arm.

"By the Lord! I'll give him something!" yelled the boy. Close by there
stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its
contents at the leering face in the window.

The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused
him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and
rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.

"I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!" he yelled. "I'll--"

Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to
him, hampering him.

"Dinna, David, dinna!" she implored. "He's yer ain dad."

"I'll dad him! I'll learn him!" roared David half through the window.

At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner,
closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.

"Is he dead?" shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.

"Ho! ho!" went the other two.

They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard
like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.

As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.

"By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and
yer--"

But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away
before that last ill word had flitted into being.

Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS

IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.

All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David
had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale
Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son.

The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman.
For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could
quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances
in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise
of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected
nothing.

When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no
light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband
of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.

The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed
his tireless anathema.

"I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole
from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie!
struck his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye were