and the flash to his eye. His hand went to his sword hilt.

“I shall not draw mine, my lord,” I told him. “I keep troth.”

He stared at me with a frown that suddenly changed into a laugh, forced and unnatural enough. “Then go thy ways, and let me go mine!” he cried. “Be complaisant, worthy captain of trainbands and Burgess from a dozen huts! The King and I will make it worth your while.”

“I will not draw my sword upon you,” I replied, “but I will try a fall with you,” and I seized him by the wrist.

He was a good wrestler as he was a good swordsman, but, with bitter anger in my heart and a vision of the haunted wood before my eyes, I think I could have