this way. Suppose you wanted to hit me the most punishing blow you
possibly could. What would you do? Why, according to your own
notion, you'd make a great effort. 'The more effort the more force,'
you'd say to yourself. 'I'll smash him even if I burst myself in
doing it.' And what would happen then? You'd only cut me and make me
angry, besides exhausting all your strength at one gasp. Whereas, if
you took it easy--like this--" Here he made a light step forward and
placed his open palm gently against the breast of Lncian, who
instantly reeled back as if the piston-rod of a steam-engine had
touched him, and dropped into the chair.

"There!" exclaimed Cashel, standing aside and pointing to him. "It's
like pocketing a billiard-ball!"

A chatter of surprise, amusement, and remonstrance spread through
the rooms; and the company crowded towards the table. Lucian rose,
white with rage, and for a moment entirely lost his self-control.
Fortunately, the effect was to paralyze him; he neither moved nor
spoke, and only betrayed his condition by his pallor and the hatred
in his expression. Presently he felt a touch on his arm and heard
his name pronounced by Lydia. Her voice calmed him. He tried to look
at her, but his vision was disturbed; he saw double; the lights
seemed to dunce before his eyes; and Lord Worthington's voice,
saying to Cashel, "Rather too practical, old fellow," seemed to come
from a remote corner of the room, and yet to be whispered into his
ear. He was moving irresolutely in search of Lydia when his senses
and his resentment were restored by a clap on the shoulder.

"You wouldn't have believed that now, would you?" said Cashel.
"Don't look startled; you've no bones broken. You had your little