ereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and
his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the
stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and
loud, taunting him on this wise:

"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush,
belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little
brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a noble sword, thou daubing
boy!"

Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath
grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the
stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then,
with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with
strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the
very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment,
as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with
the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and
once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane
redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat
he but laughed again, saying:

"Look to thy long legs, dullard!" and forthwith smote Beltane upon the
leg. "Now thine arm, slothful boy--thy left arm!" and he smote Beltane
upon the arm. "Now thy sconce, boy, thy mazzard, thy sleepy, golden
head!" and straightway he smote him on the head, and, thereafter, with
sudden, cunning stroke, beat the great sword from Beltane's grip, and
so, laughing yet, paused and stood leaning upon his own long weapon.

But Beltane stood with bent head, hurt in his pride, angry and beyond
all thought amazed; yet, being humbled most of all he kept his gaze
bent earthwards and spake no word.

Now hereupon the stranger grew solemn likewise and looked at Beltane
with kindly, approving eyes.

"Nay, indeed," quoth he, "be not abashed, good youth; take it not amiss
that I have worsted thee. 'Tis true, had I been so minded I might have
cut thee into gobbets no larger than thy little brush, but then, body
o' me! I have lived by stroke of sword from my youth up and have fought
in divers wars and countries, so take it not to heart, good youth!"
With the word he nodded and, stooping, took up the sword, and,
thereafter, cast his cloak about him, whereat Beltane lifted his head
and spake:

"Art going, sir? Wilt not try me once again? Methinks I might do a
little better this time, an so God wills."