"Fight equal, my friend, and you will fight more at ease in the long

run," was all he said. Galors let fly an oath at him, furious. He drew

his great sword and cut at him with all his force; Prosper parried and

let out at his shoulder. He got in between the armour plates; first

blow went to him. This did not improve Galors' temper or mend his

fighting. There was a sharp rally in the brook, some shrewd knocks

passed. The lighter man and horse had all the advantage; Galors never

reached his enemy fairly. He set himself to draw Prosper out of the

slush of mud and water, and once on firmer ground went more warily to

work. Then a chance blow from Prosper struck his horse on the crest

and went deep. The beast stumbled and fell with his rider upon him

both lay still.

"A broken neck," thought Prosper, cursing his luck. Galors never

moved. "What an impassive rogue it is!" Prosper cried, with all his

anger clean gone from him. He dismounted and went to where his man

lay, threw his sword on the grass beside him, and proceeded to unlace

Galors's hauberk. Galors sprang up and sent Prosper flying; he set his

heel on the sword blade and broke it short. Then he turned his own

upon the unarmed man. "By God, the man is for a murder!" Prosper grew

white with a cold rage: he was on his feet, the flame of his anger

licked up his poverty: Galors had little chance. Prosper made a quick

rush and drove at the monk with his shield arm, using the shield like

an axe; he broke down his guard, got at close quarters, dropt his

shield and caught Galors under the arms. They swayed and rocked

together like storm-driven trees, Prosper transported with his new-

lighted rage, Galors struggling to justify his treachery by its only

excuse. Below his armpits he felt Prosper's grip upon him; he was

encumbered with shield and sword, both useless--the sword, in fact,

sawing the air. Then they fell together, Prosper above; and that was

the end of the bout. Prosper slipped out his poniard and drove it in

between the joints of the gorget. Then he got up, breathing hard, and

looked at his enemy as he lay jerking on the grass, and at the bright

stream coming from his neck.

"The price of treachery is heavy," said he. "I ought to kill him. And

there are villainies behind that to be reckoned with, to say nothing

of all the villainies to do when that hole shall be stuffed. The

shield--ah, the shield! No, monk, on second thoughts, I will not kill

you yet. It would be dealing as you dealt, it would prevent our

meeting again; it would cut me off all chance of learning the history

of your arms. White wicket-gates! Where, under heaven's eye, have I

been brought up against three white wicket-gates? Ha! there is a motto

too." Entra per me, he read, and was no wiser. "This man and I

will meet again," he said. "Meantime I will remember Entra per

me." He raised his voice to call to Isoult--"Come, child; the way

is clear enough."




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