a low voice he answered:

"_Yes!_"

CHAPTER XIV

AT THE PLACE OF ARMS

Notwithstanding all that has been told, Hugh and Dick never slept more
soundly than they did that night, nor was their rest broken by any
dreams. At half past five in the morning--for they must be stirring
early--David came to call them. He too, it seemed, had slept well. Also
in the light of day the worst of his fear had left him.

"I am wondering, Sir Hugh," he said, looking at him curiously, "whether
I saw certain things last night down yonder at the Place of Arms and in
the boat, or whether I thought I saw them."

"Doubtless you thought you saw them, David," answered Hugh, adding with
meaning, "and it is not always well to talk of things we think that we
have seen."

The lad, who was sharp enough, nodded. But as he turned to hand Hugh
some garment his eye fell upon the swan-crested helm that was still
nailed by the long war-shaft with two black feathers and one white to
the carved olivewood post of the bed.

"It must have been a mighty arm that shot this arrow, Sir Hugh," he said
reflectively, "which could pierce a casque of Milan steel from side to
side and a hardwood post beyond. Well for the owner of the helm that his
head was not inside of it."

"Very well, and a very mighty arm, David. So mighty that I should say
nothing about it for fear lest it should set another arrow upon another
string and shoot again."

"God's truth, not I!" exclaimed David, "and for your comfort, sir, know
that none saw us leave this house or reenter it last night."

Then Hugh and Dick clothed themselves and saw to their weapons and mail,
but this they did not don as yet, fearing lest the weight of it should
weary them in that great heat. Although the day was so young, this heat
was terrible, more oppressive indeed than any they had yet known in
Venice.

When they were ready David left them to see to the horse which de Cressi
would ride in his combat with Cattrina. Hugh, as became a God-fearing
knight whom Sir Andrew Arnold had instructed from childhood, crossed
himself, knelt down and said his prayers, which that morning were long
and earnest. Indeed he would have confessed himself also if he could,
only there was no priest at hand who knew his language, Sir Geoffrey's
chaplain being away. After watching him a while even Grey Dick, whose
prayers were few, followed his example, kneeling in front of his bow as
though it were an image that he worship