"Fools! Better the sword than the rope. Come!"

But in his frenzied efforts to rally his men the master of Hochfels
found himself face to face with the leader of the already victorious
troops. At the sight of him the bastard paused; his breast rose and
fell with his labored breathing; his sword was dyed red, also his arms,
his clothes; from his forehead the blood ran down over his beard. His
eyes rolled like those of an animal; he seemed something inhuman; an
incarnation of baffled purpose.

"If it is reprisal you want, Sir Duke, you shall have it," he panted.

"Reprisal!" exclaimed Robert of Friedwald, scornfully. "The best you
can offer is your life."

And with that they closed. Evading the strokes of his more bulky
antagonist, the younger man's sword repeatedly sought the vulnerable
part of the other's armor. The free baron's strength became exhausted;
his blows rang harmlessly, or struck the empty air.

A sensation of pain admonished him of his own disability. About him
his band had melted away; doggedly had they given up their lives
beneath sword, mace and poniard. The ground was strewn with the slain;
riderless horses were galloping up the road. The free baron breathed
yet harder; before his eyes he seemed to see only blood.

Of what avail had been his efforts? He had won the princess, but how
brief had been his triumphs! With a belief that was almost
superstition, he had imagined his destiny lay thronewards. But the
curse of his birth had been a ban to his efforts; the bitterness of
defeat smote him. He knew he was falling; his nerveless hand loosened
his blade.

"I am sped!" he cried; "sped!" and released his hold, while the tide of
conflict appeared abruptly to sweep away.

As he struck the earth an ornament that he had worn about his neck
became unfastened and dropped to the ground. But once he moved; to
raise himself on his elbow.

"The hazard of the die!" he muttered, striving to see with eyes that
were growing blind. A rush of blood interrupted him, he fell back,
straightened out, and stirred no more.

Now had the din of strife ceased altogether, when descending the slope
appeared a cavalcade, at the head of which rode a lady on a white
palfrey, followed by several maids and guarded by an escort of soldiers
who wore the king's own colors. A stricken procession it seemed as it
drew near, the faces of the women white with fear; the gay attire and
gorgeous trappings--a mockery on