ker Rothhals, and again the men opened their ranks mutely, exhibiting
the two stretched out in diverse directions, with their feet slanting to
a common point. The Baron glared; then caught off his mailed glove, and
thrust it between his teeth. A rasping gurgle of oaths was all they
heard, and presently surged up,

'Who was it?'

Margarita's eyes were shut. She opened them fascinated with horror. There
was an unearthly awful and comic mixture of sounds in Werner's querulous
fury, that was like the noise of a complaining bear, rolling up from
hollow-chested menace to yawning lament. Never in her life had Margarita
such a shock of fear. The half gasp of a laugh broke on her trembling
lips. She stared at Werner, and was falling; but Farina's arm clung
instantly round her waist. The stranger caught up her laugh, loud and
hearty.

'As for who did it, Sir Baron,' he cried, is a cheery tone, 'I am the
man! As you may like to know why--and that's due to you and me both of
us--all I can say is, the Black Muzzle yonder lying got his settler for
merry-making with this peaceful maiden here, without her consent--an
offence in my green island they reckon a crack o' the sconce light
basting for, I warrant all company present,' and he nodded sharply about.
'As for the other there, who looks as if a rope had been round his neck
once and shirked its duty, he counts his wages for helping the devil in
his business, as will any other lad here who likes to come on and try.'

Werner himself, probably, would have given him the work he wanted; but
his eye had sidled a moment over Margarita, and the hardly-suppressed
applause of the crowd at the stranger's speech failed to bring his ire
into action this solitary time.

'Who is the maiden?' he asked aloud.

'Fraulein von Groschen,' replied Farina.

'Von Groschen! Von Groschen! the daughter of Gottlieb
Groschen?--Rascals!' roared the Baron, turning on his men, and out poured
a mud-spring of filthy oaths and threats, which caused Henker Rothhals,
who had opened his eyes, to close them again, as if he had already gone
to the place of heat.

'Only lend me thy staff, friend,' cried Werner.

'Not I! thwack 'em with your own wood,' replied the stranger, and fell
back a leg.

Werner knotted his stringy brows, and seemed torn to pieces with the
different pulling tides of his wrath. He grasped the mane of his horse
and flung abroad handfuls, till the splendid animal reared in agony.

'You shal