th the long
steel spurs; a very delicate process, to judge by the time occupied
and the pucker on his good-tempered brow.

"Ready?" he asked at length.

Jim, who had been heeling the Squire's bird, nodded and the pair were
set down. They ruffled and flew at each other without an instant's
hesitation. The visitor, which five minutes before had been staring
at the carpet so foolishly, was prompt enough now. For a moment they
paused, beak to beak, eye to eye, furious, with necks outstretched
and hackles stiff with the rage of battle. They began to rise and
fall like two feathers tossing in the air, very quietly. But for the
soft whir of wings there was no sound in the room. Taffy could
scarcely believe they were fighting in earnest. For a moment they
seemed to touch--to touch and no more, and for a moment only--but in
that moment the stroke was given. The home champion fluttered down,
stood on his legs for a moment, as if nothing had happened, then
toppled over and lay twitching, as his conqueror strutted over him
and lifted his throat to crow.

Squire Moyle rose, clutching the corner of his chair. His mouth
opened and shut, but no words came. Sir Harry caught up his bird,
whipped off his spurs, and thrust him back into the bag. The old man
dropped back, letting his chin sink on his high stock-collar.

"It serves me right. Who shall deliver me from the wrath to come?"

"Oh! as for that--" Sir Harry finished tying the neck of the bag, and
lazily fell to fingering the setter's ear.

The old man was muttering to himself. Taffy looked at the dead bird,
then at Honoria. She was gazing at it too, with untroubled eyes.

"But I _will_ be saved! I tell you, Harry, I _will!_ Take those
birds away. Honoria, hand me my Bible. It's all here"--he tapped
the heavy book--"miracles, redemption, justification by faith--I
_will_ have faith. I _will_ believe, every damned word of it!"

Sir Harry broke in with a peal of laughter. Taffy had never heard a
laugh so musical.

The old man was adjusting his spectacles; but he took them off and
laid them down, his hands shaking with rage.

"You came here to taunt me"--his voice shook as his hand--"me, an
old man, with no son to my house. You think, because I'm seeking
higher things, there's no fight left in us or in the parish. I tell
you what; make that boy of yours strip and stand up, and I'll back
the Parson's youngster for doubles or quits. Off with your coat, my