“But in Heaven’s name, what does it all mean?” exclaimed Lambert, gazing at the two cards, hearing the comments round him, yet utterly unable to understand.

Segrave jumped to his feet.

“It means, young man,” he ejaculated in a wild state of frenzy, maddened by his losses, his former crime, his present ruin, “it means that you are a damned thief.”

And with frantic, excited gesture he gathered up the cards and threw them violently into Richard Lambert’s face.

A curious sound went round the room—­a gasp, hardly a cry—­and all those present held their breath, silent, appalled at the terrible tragedy expressed by these two young men standing face to face on the brink of a deathly and almost blasphemous conflict.

Mistress Endicott was the first to utter a cry.

“Silence! silence!” she shouted shrilly.  “Master Segrave, I adjure you to be silent....  I’ll not permit you to insult my guest.”

Already Lambert had made a quick movement to throw himself on Segrave.  The elemental instinct of self-defense, of avenging a terrible insult by physical violence, rose within him, whispering of strength and power, of the freedom, muscle-giving life of the country as against the enervating, weakening influence of the town.

He knew that in a hand-to-hand struggle with the feverish, emaciated townsman, he, the country-bred lad, the haunter of woods and cliffs, the dweller of the Thanet smithy, would be more than a match for his opponent.  But even as his whole body stiffened for a spring, his muscles tightened and his fists clenched, a dozen restraining hands held him back from his purpose, whilst Mistress Endicott’s shrill tones seemed to bring him back to the realities of his own peril.

“Mistress Endicott,” he said, turning a proud, yet imploring look to the lady whose virtues had been so loudly proclaimed in his ears, “Madam, I appeal to you ...  I implore you to listen ... a frightful insult which you have witnessed ... an awful accusation on which I scarce can trust myself to dwell has been hurled at me....  I entreat you to allow me to challenge these two gentlemen to explain.”

And he pointed both to Segrave and to Endicott, The former, after his mad outburst of ungovernable rage, had regained a certain measure of calm.  He stood, facing Lambert, with arms folded across his chest, whilst a smile of insulting irony curled his thin lips.

Endicott’s eyes seemed to be riveted on Lambert’s breast.

At mention of his own name, he suddenly darted forward, and seemed to be plunging his hand—­the hand which almost disappeared within the ample folds of the voluminous lace cuff—­into the breast pocket of the young man’s doublet.

His movements were so quick, so sure and so unexpected that no one—­least of all Lambert—­could possibly guess what was his purpose.

The next moment—­less than a second later—­he had again withdrawn his hand, but now everyone could see that he held a few cards in it.  These he dropped with an exclamation of loathing and contempt upon the table, whilst those around, instinctively drew back a step or two as if fearful of coming in contact with something impure and terrible.