pack of Dom
Gillian's wolves, waiting cautiously upon one another, for the Stockader
had a long sword-arm. Thereupon a man broke out of the press, signing
the prudent ones to fall back. It was Quinton Edge, and, as ever, he was
laughing, only that now his laughter sounded like to a bell that has
cracked in the ringing. The swords clashed together; then the Doomsman
dropped his point.

"You are too good a man for crows' meat," he said, shortly. "Stand clear
and save your ears; my business is with the white-faced boy behind you."

But Guyder Touchett, ruddy, full-bodied, and loving his life as well as
any man, only girded at him, saying:

"Is there, then, a deeper hell than this? I follow where my master has
gone, and you, my lord, shall show me the way."

"The more fool you," quoth Quinton Edge, and drove at him.

[Illustration: "OUT LEAPED QUINTON EDGE'S SWORD"]

Again the blades engaged, and a great fear suddenly tightened at the
boy's heart. His champion had been exhausted by his previous efforts,
and now his strength was going fast. Constans saw Touchett stagger and
Quinton Edge preparing for a final stroke; he turned and ran for the
upper end of the hall--the Rat's-Hole.

The key was still in his bosom, and in a few seconds he had passed the
postern, closing and locking it behind him. Five minutes' hard running
and he was free of the stockade and at the summit of a hill that
commanded the scene which he had just left. The conflagration was
progressing with astonishing rapidity; already the Great House itself
was in flames, and dark figures could be seen issuing from the water
gate. There! the red cock was crowing from the top of the bell-tower,
and now the whole court-yard was a furnace of fire. A spark carried by
the wind fell on his naked shoulder, where it bit like a fiery serpent.
Yet he scarcely felt the smart; he stood motionless, looking upon the
wreck of his little world, the only one that he had ever known.

"So in the end he made me a coward as well," said the boy, speaking
softly to himself. "Is it that a slave must be a slave--always?"

He drew a long breath. "No, not always. But in the mean time I am to go
on living and bearing everywhere his mark--Quinton Edge's mark. Well, I
will begin by learning how to wait."

He stood irresolute for a moment longer, gazing at the scene of the
night's tragedy as though to impress it indelibly upon his memory. Then
turning his back to the east, where the f