an the sword of a nobleman,
but yet--Villain, draw and defend thyself!"

As he spoke the last words, he dropped his mantle on the ground, struck
Tressilian smartly with his sheathed sword, and instantly drawing his
rapier, put himself into a posture of assault. The vehement fury of his
language at first filled Tressilian, in his turn, with surprise equal
to what Leicester had felt when he addressed him. But astonishment gave
place to resentment when the unmerited insults of his language were
followed by a blow which immediately put to flight every thought save
that of instant combat. Tressilian's sword was instantly drawn; and
though perhaps somewhat inferior to Leicester in the use of the weapon,
he understood it well enough to maintain the contest with great spirit,
the rather that of the two he was for the time the more cool, since he
could not help imputing Leicester's conduct either to actual frenzy or
to the influence of some strong delusion.

The rencontre had continued for several minutes, without either party
receiving a wound, when of a sudden voices were heard beneath the
portico which formed the entrance of the terrace, mingled with the steps
of men advancing hastily. "We are interrupted," said Leicester to his
antagonist; "follow me."

At the same time a voice from the portico said, "The jackanape is
right--they are tilting here."

Leicester, meanwhile, drew off Tressilian into a sort of recess behind
one of the fountains, which served to conceal them, while six of
the yeomen of the Queen's guard passed along the middle walk of the
Pleasance, and they could hear one say to the rest, "We shall never find
them to-night among all these squirting funnels, squirrel cages, and
rabbit-holes; but if we light not on them before we reach the farther
end, we will return, and mount a guard at the entrance, and so secure
them till morning."

"A proper matter," said another, "the drawing of swords so near the
Queen's presence, ay, and in her very palace as 'twere! Hang it, they
must be some poor drunken game-cocks fallen to sparring--'twere pity
almost we should find them--the penalty is chopping off a hand, is it
not?--'twere hard to lose hand for handling a bit of steel, that comes
so natural to one's gripe."

"Thou art a brawler thyself, George," said another; "but take heed, for
the law stands as thou sayest."

"Ay," said the first, "an the act be not mildly construed; for thou
knowest 'tis not the Queen's p