eel flash out in the grey light and then subside again.

Stoutenburg was at once conscious of his own disadvantage. He was no
match for this brilliant sword play; his opponent did indeed appear to
be only playing with him, but Stoutenburg felt all the time that the
abominable knave might disarm him at any moment if he were so minded.

Nor could he see very clearly: the passionate blood in him had rushed to
his head and was beating furiously in his temples, whilst the other man
with the additional advantage of a good position against the wall, kept
up a perfect fusillade of good-humoured comments.

"Well attacked, my lord!" he cried gaily, "Dondersteen! were I as fat as
your Magnificence supposes, your sword would ere now have made a hole in
my side. Pity I am not broader, is it not? or more in the way of your
sword. There," he added as with a quick and sudden turn of the wrist he
knocked his opponent's weapon out of his hand, "allow me to return you
this most useful sword."

He had already stooped and picked up Stoutenburg's sword, and now was
holding it with slender finger tips by the point of its blade, and
smiling, urbane and mocking, he held it out at arm's length, bowing the
while with courtly, ironical grace.

"Shall we call Jan, my lord," he said airily, "or one of your friends to
aid you? Some of them I noticed just now seemed somewhat in a hurry to
quit this hospitable molens, but mayhap one or two are still lingering
behind."

Stoutenburg, blind with rage, had snatched his sword back out of the
scoffer's hand. He knew that the man was only playing with him, only
keeping him busy here to prevent his going to Gilda. This thought threw
him into a frenzy of excitement and not heeding the other's jeers he
cried out at the top of his voice:

"Jan! Jan! Nicolaes! What-ho!"

And the other man putting his hand up to his mouth also shouted lustily:

"Jan! Nicolaes! What ho!"

Had Stoutenburg been less blind and deaf to aught save to his own hatred
and his own fury, he would have heard not many paces away, the sound of
horses' hoofs upon the hard ground, the champing of bits, the jingle of
harness. But of this he did not think, not just yet. His thoughts were
only of Gilda, and that man was holding the door of the hut because he
meant to dispute with him the possession of Gilda. He cast aside all
sense of pride and shame. He was no match with a foreign mercenary,
whose profession was that of arms; there was