The master-vice had him by the throat.

He sat there, clutching the arms of his chair, his broken leg, in its plaster casing, extended in front of him; and when he saw Plank enter he glared at him.
Hour after hour the two men sat there, the one white with rage, but helpless; the other, stolid, inert, deaf to demands for intercession with the arch-vice, dumb under pleadings for a compromise.

He refused to interfere with the butler, and Siward insulted him.

He refused to go and find the decanters himself, and Siward deliberately cursed him.
Outside the storm raged all night.

Inside that house Plank faced a more awful tempest.