“End of act the first!  The Wicked Angels—­hum, hum—­go to hell!  All in the day’s work!” cried Jorian, cheerily, recharging his pistolet and driving home the wadding as he spoke.

It may well be imagined that during our encounter with the assailants of the candle, whose transverse fire had so nearly finished me, the company out in the great kitchen had not been content to lie snoring on their backs.  We could hear them creeping and whispering out there beyond the doors; but till after the shot from the soldier’s pistolet they had not dared to show us any overt act of hostility.

Suddenly Jorian, once more facing the door, now that the passage was clear, perceived by the rustling of the straw that it began to open gradually.  He waited till in another moment it would have been wide enough to let in a man.

“Back there, dog, or I fire!” he bellowed.  And the door was promptly shut to.

After that there came another period of waiting very difficult to get over.  I wished with all my heart for a cross-bow or any shooting weapon.  Much did I reproach myself that I had not learned the art before, as I might easily have done from the men-at-arms about the Wolfsberg, who, for my father’s sake (or Helene’s), would gladly have taught me.

The women folk in the room behind my back were now up and dressed.  Indeed, the Lady Ysolinde would have come out and watched with us, but I besought her to abide where she was.  Presently, however, Helene put her head without, and seeing me stand by the door with my sword, she asked if I wanted anything.  She appeared to have forgotten her unkind good-night, and I was not the man to remind her of it.

“Only another weapon, Sweetheart, besides this prick-point small-sword!” said I, looking at the thing in my hand I doubt not a trifle scornfully.

Helene shut to the door, and for a space I heard no more.  Presently, however, she opened it again, and thrust an axe with a long handle through to me.  It was the very fellow of the weapon I had used on the pendent calf in the kitchen.  I understood at once that it was her apology and her justification as well.  For the Little Playmate was ever a straight lass.  She ever did so much more than she promised, and ever said less than her heart meant.  Which perhaps is less common than the other way about—­especially among women.

“I found it on my incoming and hid it under the bed!” she said.

Then judge ye if I sheathed not my small-sword right swiftly, and made the broadaxe blade, to the skill of which I had been born, whistle through the air.  For a mightily strange thing it is that, though I had ever a rooted horror at the thought of my father’s office itself, and from my childhood never for a moment intended to exercise it, nevertheless I had always the most notable facility in cutting things.  Never to this day have I a stick in hand, when I walk abroad among the ragweed waving yellow on the grassy