"A miracle, dear lord Christ!" the girl wailed. "O sweet Christ, a miracle!"
"Faith of God!" said Roger, in a flattish tone; "what was that?"
For faintly there came the sound of one singing.
Sang the distant voice: "Had your father's household been Guelfic-born or Ghibelline, Beatrice were unknown On her star-encompassed throne.
"For, had Dante viewed your grace, Adelais, sweet Adelais, You had reigned in Bice's place,-- Had for candles, Hyades, Rastaben, and Betelguese,-- And had heard Zachariel Chaunt of you, and, chaunting, tell All the grace of you, and praise Sweet Adelais."
4. Honor Brings a Padlock Adelais sprang to her feet. "A miracle!" she cried, her voice shaking. "Fulke, Fulke! to me, Fulke!"
Master Darke hurried her struggling toward his horse. Darke was muttering curses, for there was now a beat of hoofs in the road yonder that led to Winstead. "Fulke, Fulke!" the girl shrieked.
Then presently, as Roger put foot to stirrup, two horsemen wheeled about the bend in the road, and one of them leapt to the ground.
"Mademoiselle," said Fulke d'Arnaye, "am I, indeed, so fortunate as to be of any service to you?"
"Ho!" cried Roger, with a gulp of relief, "it is only the French dancing-master taking French leave of poor cousin Hugh! Man, but you startled me!"
Now Adelais ran to the Frenchman, clinging to him the while that she told of Roger's tricks. And d'Arnaye's face set mask-like.
"Monsieur," he said, when she had ended, "you have wronged a sweet and innocent lady. As God lives, you shall answer to me for this."
"Look you," Roger pointed out, "this is none of your affair, Monsieur Jackanapes. You are bound for the coast, I take it. Very well,--ka me, and I ka thee. Do you go your way in peace, and let us do the same."
Fulke d'Arnaye put the girl aside and spoke rapidly in French to his companion. Then with mincing agility he stepped toward Master Darke.
Roger blustered. "You hop-toad! you jumping-jack!" said he, "what do you mean?"
"Chastisement!" said the Frenchman, and struck him in the face.
"Very well!" said Master Darke, strangely quiet. And with that they both drew.
The Frenchman laughed, high and shrill, as they closed, and afterward he began to pour forth a voluble flow of discourse. Battle was wine to the man.
"Not since Agincourt, Master Coward--he, no!--have I held sword in hand. It is a good sword, this,--a sharp sword, is it not? Ah, the poor arm--but see, your blood is quite black-looking in this moonlight, and I had thought cowards yielded a paler blood than brave men possess. We live and learn, is it not? Observe, I play with you like a child,--as I played with your tall King at Agincourt when I cut away the coronet from his helmet. I did not kill him--no!--but I wounded him, you conceive? Presently, I shall wound you, too. My compliments--you have grazed my hand. But I shall not kill you, because you are the kinsman of the fairest lady earth may boast, and I would not willingly shed the least drop of any blood that is partly hers. Ohé, no! Yet since I needs must do this ungallant thing--why, see, monsieur, how easy it is!"