Cashel Byron's Profession

"Come along with me," said Wilson, sternly.

Cashel suffered himself to be led for some twenty yards. Then he

stopped and burst into tears.

"There is no use in my going back," he said, sobbing. "I have never

done any good there. I can't go back."

"Indeed," said Wilson, with magisterial sarcasm. "We shall try to

make you do better in future." And he forced the fugitive to resume

his march.

Cashel, bitterly humiliated by his own tears, and exasperated by a

certain cold triumph which his captor evinced on witnessing them,

did not go many steps farther without protest.

"You needn't hold me," he said, angrily; "I can walk without being

held." The master tightened his grasp and pushed his captive

forward. "I won't run away, sir," said Cashel, more humbly, shedding

fresh tears. "Please let me go," he added, in a suffocated voice,

trying to turn his face toward his captor. But Wilson twisted him

back again, and urged him still onward. Cashel cried out

passionately, "Let me go," and struggled to break loose.

"Come, come, Byron," said the master, controlling him with a broad,

strong hand; "none of your nonsense, sir."

Then Cashel suddenly slipped out of his jacket, turned on Wilson,

and struck up at him savagely with his right fist. The master

received the blow just beside the point of his chin; and his eyes

seemed to Cashel roll up and fall back into his head with the shock.

He drooped forward for a moment, and fell in a heap face downward.

Cashel recoiled, wringing his hand to relieve the tingling of his

knuckles, and terrified by the thought that he had committed murder.

But Wilson presently moved and dispelled that misgiving. Some of

Cashel's fury returned as he shook his fist at his prostrate

adversary, and, exclaiming, "YOU won't brag much of having seen me

cry," wrenched the jacket from him with unnecessary violence, and

darted away at full speed.

Mr. Wilson, though he was soon conscious and able to rise, did not

feel disposed to stir for a long time. He began to moan with a dazed

faith that some one would eventually come to him with sympathy and

assistance. Five minutes elapsed, and brought nothing but increased

cold and pain. It occurred to him that if the police found him they

would suppose him to be drunk; also that it was his duty to go to

them and give them the alarm. He rose, and, after a struggle with

dizziness and nausea, concluded that his most pressing duty was to

get to bed, and leave Dr. Moncrief to recapture his ruffianly pupil

as best he could.