pinioned them to my sides. The game was up; there remained only to pay the forfeit without a grimace.

Diccon was not dead; pinioned, like myself, and breathing hard, he leaned sullenly against the wall, they that he had slain at his feet. My lord rose, and stood over against me. His rich doublet was torn and dragged away at the neck, and my blood stained his hand and arm. A smile was upon the face that had made him master of a kingdom’s master.

“The game was long,” he said, “but I have won at last. A long good-night to you, Captain Percy, and a dreamless sleep!”

There was a swift backward movement of the Indians, and a loud “The panther, sir! Have a care!” from Diccon. I turned. The panther, maddened by the noise