He turned as if to go, but Adam’s hard grip was on his shoulder in an instant.

“Nay! thou’lt not detain me—­’tis I am detaining thee!” said the blacksmith hoarsely, “for I desired to tell thee that thy ugly French face is abhorrent to me ...  I do not hold with princes....  For a prince is none better than another man nay, he is worse an he loafs and steals after heiresses and their gold ... and will not do a bit of honest work....  Work makes the man....  Work and prayer ... not your titles and fine estates.  This is a republic now ... understand? ... no king, no House of Lords—­please the Lord neither clergymen nor noblemen soon....  I work with my hands ... and am not ashamed.  The Lord Saviour was a carpenter and not a prince....  My brother is a student and a gentleman—­as good as any prince—­understand?  Ten thousand times as good as thee.”

He relaxed his grip which had been hard as steel on Sir Marmaduke’s shoulder.  It was evident that he had been nursing hatred and loathing against his lodger for some time, and that to-night the floodgates of his pent-up wrath had been burst asunder through the mysterious prince’s taunts, and insinuations anent the cloud and secrecy which hung round the Lamberts’ parentage.

Though his shoulder was painful and bruised under the pressure of the blacksmith’s rough fingers, Sir Marmaduke did not wince.  He looked his avowed enemy boldly in the face, with no small measure of contempt for the violence displayed.

His own enmity towards those who thwarted him was much more subtle, silent and cautious.  He would never storm and rage, show his enmity openly and caution his antagonist through an outburst of rage.  Adam Lambert still glaring into his lodger’s eye, encountered nothing therein but irony and indulgent contempt.

Religion forbade him to swear.  Yet was he sorely tempted, and we may presume that he cursed inwardly, for his enemy refused to be drawn into wordy warfare, and he himself had exhausted his vocabulary of sneering abuse, even as he had exhausted his breath.

Perhaps in his innermost heart he was ashamed of his outburst.  After all, he had taken this man’s money, and had broken bread with him.  His hand dropped to his side, and his head fell forward on his breast even as with a pleasant laugh the prince carelessly turned away, and with an affected gesture brushed his silken doublet, there where the blacksmith’s hard grip had marred the smoothness of the delicate fabric.

Had Adam Lambert possessed that subtle sixth sense, which hears and sees that which goes on in the mind of others, he had perceived a thought in his lodger’s brain cells which might have caused him to still further regret his avowal of open enmity.

For as the blacksmith finally turned away and walked off through the park, skirting the boundary wall, Sir Marmaduke looked over his shoulder at the ungainly figure which was soon lost in the gloom, and muttered a round oath between his teeth.