"Drop me, you fellow, drop me, I say. I won't go for you," cried
Wildney, shaking with passion. "Eric, why do you let him bully me?"
"You let him go this minute," repeated Eric, hoarsely.
"I shall do no such thing. You don't know what you're about."
"Don't I? Well, then, take _that_, to show whether I do or no!" and
suddenly leaning forward, he struck Montagu a violent back-handed blow
on the mouth.
Everybody saw it, everybody heard it; and it instantly astounded them
into silence. That Montagu should have been struck in public, and that
by Eric--by a boy who had loved him, and whom he had loved--by a boy who
had been his schoolfellow for three years now, and whose whole life
seemed bound to him by so many associations; it was strange, and
sad indeed.
Montagu sprang straight upright; for an instant he took one stride
towards his striker with lifted hand and lightning eyes, while the blood
started to his lips in consequence of the blow. But he stopped suddenly
and his hand fell to his side; by a strong effort of self-control he
contrived to master himself, and sitting down quite quietly on a chair,
he put his white handkerchief to his wounded mouth, and took it away
stained with blood.
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