d pointed out to my lord the prisoner whom he
was so proud to have captured. The light fell upon the pinioned figure,
splendid in its air of rebellious helplessness. Here was a man,
momentarily conquered it is true, but obviously not vanquished, and
though the ropes now cut into his body, though the biting wind lashed
his bare chest, and dark stains showed upon his shirt, the spirit within
was as free and untrammelled as ever--the spirit of independence and of
adventure which is willing to accept the knockdown blows of fate as
readily and cheerfully as her favours.

Despite the torn shirt and the ragged doublet there was yet an air of
swagger about the whole person of the man, swagger that became almost
insolent as the Lord of Stoutenburg approached. He threw back his head
and looked his sworn enemy straight in the face, his eyes were laughing
still, and a smile of cool irony played round his lips.

"Well done, Jan!" quoth Stoutenburg with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

He was standing with arms akimbo and legs wide apart, enjoying to the
full the intense delight of gazing for awhile in silence on his
discomfited enemy.

"Ah! but it is good," he said at last, "to look upon a helpless rogue."

"'Tis a sight then," retorted the prisoner lightly, "which your
Magnificence hath often provided for your friends and your adherents."

"Bah!" rejoined Stoutenburg, who was determined to curb his temper if he
could, "your insolence now, my man, hath not the power to anger me. It
strikes me as ludicrous--even pathetic in its senselessness. An I were
in your unpleasant position, I would try by submission to earn a slight
measure of leniency from my betters."

"No doubt you would, my lord," quoth Diogenes dryly, "but you see I have
up to now not yet come across my betters. When I do, I may take your
advice."

"Verdommte Keerl! What say you, Beresteyn," added Stoutenburg turning to

his friend, "shall we leave him here to-night to cool his impudence, we
can always hang him to-morrow."

Beresteyn made no immediate reply, his face was pale and haggard, and
his glance--shifty and furtive--seemed to avoid that of the prisoner.

"You must see that the fellow is well guarded, Jan," resumed Stoutenburg
curtly, "give him some food, but on no account allow him the slightest
freedom."

"My letters to Ben Isaje," murmured Beresteyn, as Stoutenburg already
turned to go. "Hath he perchance got them by him still?"

"The letters! yes! I