'Come along!'

She followed him without a word. And presently, behold, in another
field, whistling meditatively and regardless of impending ill, Albert
Parsons.

In everything that he did Tom was a man of method. He did not depart
from his chosen formula.

'Albert,' he said, 'there's been a mistake.'

And Albert gaped, as Ted had gaped.

Tom kissed Sally with the gravity of one performing a ritual.

The uglinesses of life, as we grow accustomed to them, lose their power
to shock, and there is no doubt that Sally looked with a different eye
upon this second struggle. She was conscious of a thrill of
excitement, very different from the shrinking horror which had seized
her before. Her stunned vanity began to tingle into life again. The
fight was raging furiously over the trampled turf, and quite suddenly,
as she watched, she was aware that her heart was with Tom.

It was no longer two strange brutes fighting in a field. It was her man
battling for her sake.

She desired overwhelmingly that he should win, that he should not be
hurt, that he should sweep triumphantly over Albert Parsons as he had
swept over Ted Pringle.