Then could I no longer contain myself.  I heard young Harvey laugh, and remark:  “’Tis all up with Master Philip now.”  But Philip, whatever else he may have been, was no coward, and had squared off to face me by the time I had run the distance between the stakes.  He was heavier than I, though not so tall; and he parried my first blow and my second, and many more; having lively work of it, however, for I hit him as often as I was able.  To speak truth, I had not looked for such resistance, and seeing that I could not knock him down, out of hand, I grew more cool and began to study what I was doing.

“Take off your macaroni coat,” said I.  “I have no wish to ruin your clothes.”

But he only jeered in return:  “Take off thy wool-sack.”  And Hugo, getting to his feet, cried out to me not to hurt Marse Philip, that he had meant no harm.  But this only enraged Philip the more, and he swore a round oath at Hugo and another at me, and dealt a vicious blow at my stomach, whereat Harvey called out to him to fight fair.  He was more skilful at the science of boxing than I, though I was the better fighter, having, I am sorry to say, fought but too often before.  And presently, when I had closed one of his eyes, his skill went all to pieces, and he made a mad rush at me.  As he went by I struck him so hard that he fell heavily and lay motionless.

Young Harvey ran into the spring-house and filled his hat as I bent over my cousin.  I unbuttoned his waistcoat and felt his heart, and rejoiced to find it beating; we poured cold water over his face and wrists.  By then, Hugo, who was badly frightened, had told the news in the house, and I saw my Aunt Caroline come running over the green as fast as her tight stays would permit, crying out that I had killed her boy, her dear Philip.  And after her came my Uncle Grafton and my grandfather, with all the servants who had been in hearing.  I was near to crying myself at the thought that I should grieve my grandfather.  And my aunt, as she knelt over Philip, pushed me away, and bade me not touch him.  But my cousin opened one of his eyes, and raised his hand to his head.

“Thank Heaven he is not killed!” exclaims Aunt Caroline, fervently.

“Thank God, indeed!” echoes my uncle, and gives me a look as much as to say that I am not to be thanked for it.  “I have often warned you, sir,” he says to Mr. Carvel, “that we do not inherit from stocks and stones.  And so much has come of our charity.”

I knew, lad that I was; that he spoke of my mother; and my blood boiled within me.

“Have a care, sir, with your veiled insults,” I cried, “or I will serve you as I have served your son.”

Grafton threw up his hands.

“What have we harboured, father?” says he.  But Mr. Carvel seized him by the shoulder.  “Peace, Grafton, before the servants,” he said, “and cease thy crying, Caroline.  The lad is not hurt.”  And being a tall man, six feet in his stockings, and strong despite his age, he raised Philip from the grass, and sternly bade him walk to the house, which he did, leaning on his mother’s arm.  “As for you, Richard,” my grandfather went on, “you will go into my study.”