et the surly smith; Richard
being out of the way, he had no misgivings in his mind when he retraced
his steps towards the cottage.

It was close on eight o'clock then, in fact the tiny bell in Acol church
struck the hour even as Sir Marmaduke lifted the latch of the little
garden gate.

The old woman was in the parlor, busy as usual with her dusting-cloth.
Without heeding her, Sir Marmaduke strode up to the table and pushing
the crockery, which now littered it, aside, he searched for his
tinder-box.

It was not there. With an impatient oath, he turned to Mistress Martha,
and roughly demanded if she had seen it.

"Eh? ... What?" she queried, shuffling a little nearer to him, "I am
somewhat hard of hearing ... as thou knowest...."

"Have you seen my tinder-box?" he repeated with ever-growing irritation.

"Ah, yea, the fog!" she said blandly, "'tis damp too, of a truth, and
..."

"Hold your confounded tongue!" he shouted wrathfully, "and try and hear
me. My tinder-box...."

"Thy what? I am a bit ..."

"Curse you for an old fool," swore Sir Marmaduke, who by now was in a
towering passion.

With a violent gesture he pushed the old woman aside and turning on her
in an uncontrolled access of fury, with both arms upraised, he shouted:

"If you don't hear me now, I'll break every bone in your ugly body....
Where is my ..."

It had all happened in a very few seconds: his entrance, his search for
the missing box, the growing irritation in him which had caused him to
lose control of his temper. And now, even before the threatening words
were well out of his mouth, he suddenly felt a vigorous onslaught from
the rear, and his own throat clutched by strong and sinewy fingers.

"And I'll break every bone in thy accursed body!" shouted a hoarse voice
close to his ear, "if thou darest so much as lay a finger on the old
woman."

The struggle was violent and brief. Sir Marmaduke already felt himself
overmastered. Adam Lambert had taken him unawares. He was rough and very
powerful. Sir Marmaduke was no weakling, yet encumbered by his fantastic
clothes he was no match for the smith. Adam turned him about in his
nervy hands like a puppet.

Now he was in front and above him, glaring down at the man he hated with
eyes which would have searched the very depths of his enemy's soul.

"Thou damned foreigner!" he growled between clenched teeth, "thou
vermin! ... Thou toad! Thou ... on thy knees! ... on thy knees, I say
... beg