-morrow, nobility," said Leicester with courtesy overdone, and
bowing much too low. "Good-morrow, valentine," answered Lempriere,
flushing slightly at the disguised insult, and rising to the moment.

"I hear the crop of fools is short this year in Jersey, and through no
fault of yours--you've done your best most loyally," jeered Leicester,
as he doffed his doublet, his gentlemen laughing in derision.

"'Tis true enough, my lord, and I have come to find new seed in England,
where are fools to spare; as I trust in Heaven one shall be spared on
this very day for planting yonder."

He was eaten with rage, but he was cool and steady.

He was now in his linen and small clothes and looked like some untrained
Hercules.

"Well said, nobility," laughed Leicester with an ugly look. "'Tis seed
time--let us measure out the seed. On guard!"

Never were two men such opposites, never two so seemingly ill-matched.
Leicester's dark face and its sardonic look, his lithe figure, the
nervous strength of his bearing, were in strong contrast to the bulking
breadth, the perspiring robustness of Lempriere of Rozel. It was not
easy of belief that Lempriere should be set to fight this toreador of a
fighting Court. But there they stood, Lempriere's face with a great-eyed
gravity looming above his rotund figure like a moon above a purple
cloud. But huge and loose though the Seigneur's motions seemed, he was
as intent as though there were but two beings in the universe, Leicester
and himself. A strange alertness seemed to be upon him, and, as
Leicester found when the swords crossed, he was quicker than his bulk
gave warrant. His perfect health made his vision sure; and, though not
a fine swordsman, he had done much fighting in his time, had been
ever ready for the touch of steel; and had served some warlike days
in fighting France, where fate had well befriended him. That which
Leicester meant should be by-play of a moment became a full half-hour's
desperate game. Leicester found that the thrust--the fatal thrust
learned from an Italian master--he meant to give, was met by a swift
precision, responding to quick vision. Again and again he would have
brought the end, but Lempriere heavily foiled him. The wound which the
Seigneur got at last, meant to be mortal, was saved from that by the
facility of a quick apprehension. Indeed, for a time the issue had
seemed doubtful, for the endurance and persistence of the Seigneur made
for exasperation and