There was a noise and disturbance down at the door.

“Turn him out!  Turn him out!”

At last the cry sounded over the whole room.  It was an interlude, during which the audience climbed up on to tables and benches to try to see.

Nikolai would blindly and roughly have forced his way in, had not the police officer met him at the door, and with his own and the constable’s united efforts managed to drag the strong, unruly smith out.

His one thought, while with a certain cool, temperate leniency they dragged him out into the half-darkness, was to keep so near that he could have an eye on the door.  He felt with suppressed rage that if they drove him to it, he would sooner die than leave the garden now.

The music ceased.  A number of people, hot and breathless, streamed out during a pause in the dancing.

There came Veyergang—­and Silla, bashful and half-resisting, with him.  They took the way up to the restaurant.

Nikolai suddenly disengaged himself with a jerk, and the next moment, emerging from the darkness, thrust himself between them.

Silla uttered a cry of terror, but Nikolai only gave her a half-glance, and flung her behind him—­and thus stood face to face with Veyergang.

The young lion changed colour and retreated a step before the expression of violent hatred confronting him; but, recognising the old enemy of his school days, he curled his lip scornfully.

That look made Nikolai rush upon him, and Veyergang, with a cry of “You cowardly ruffian!” returned the blow with his walking-stick right across Nikolai’s face, so that the stick snapped.

“Help! help!  Police!”

Nikolai had struck his fist into Veyergang’s chest so that the buttons of his coat were torn open, when he was surrounded by three policemen.

A young girl suddenly rushed wildly in among them.

Spectators collected in greater numbers around.

This was a fair-fight of the first sort; and that tall, dark girl too!

“A mad bull-dog of a smith!  Put him under arrest!” exclaimed Veyergang furiously, when he felt himself in safety.  “You may meditate there in the meantime.  You are not at all indispensable, my friend!” he went on in a coolly teasing tone.  “The black-eyed lassie shall enjoy herself at the fair all the same.”

The words were hardly spoken before Nikolai had wrenched himself free.  He swung the bundle, with the box in it, about him so that nobody could come near him, and darted like a flash of lightning upon Veyergang, exclaiming between his teeth:  “It’s the last time in your life that you’ll say that!”

One hand fumbled with Veyergang’s coat, and the other dealt him a blow with the full weight of the box, so that he fell backwards on to the snow.

He did not get up again—­did not stir.

There were cries and a tumult among the spectators.  Some cried “Murder,” others for a doctor.  And all the while the music clashed and jingled in three directions.