idle young oaf of a brother! By gad, sir, I'll whip you for this; I'll
give you something to remember General Clive by!"

He caught up a riding whip that stood in the angle of the doorway, and
took Desmond by the shoulder. The boy did not flinch.

"Whip me if you must," he said quietly, "but don't you think we'd better
go outside?"

The elder, with an imprecation, thrust Desmond into the open, hauled him
some distance down the path, and then beat him heavily about the
shoulders. He stood a foot higher, his arm was strong, his grip firm as a
vise; resistance would have been vain; but Desmond knew better than to
resist. He bent to the cruel blows without a wince or a murmur. Only, his
face was very pale when, the bully's arm being tired and his breath
spent, he was flung away and permitted to stagger to the house. He
crawled painfully up the wainscoted staircase and into the dark corridor
leading to his bedroom. Halfway down this he paused, felt with his hand
along the wall, and, discovering by this means that a door was ajar,
stood listening.

"Is that you, Desmond?" said a low voice within.

"Yes, mother," he replied, commanding his voice, and quietly entering. "I
hoped you were asleep."

"I could not sleep until you came in, dear. I heard Dick's voice. What is
the matter? Your hand is trembling, Desmond."

"Nothing, mother, as usual."