ith hand upon hilt, awaited the arising of his
companion.

Stunned for the moment by so sturdy a buffet, Winter remained
motionless for a little space, but soon regained his feet, and, with
garments soiled and earth stained, with blood upon his face, drew his
sword and made as though he would thrust the Viscount through.

Effingston drew also, and more serious results would have followed had
not one in the crowd which had gathered to watch the ending of the
quarrel, cried that the King's soldiers were approaching.

Sobered by the danger which threatened him, for the arrest of a
Catholic with sword in hand was like to bring evil consequence, Winter
made haste to sheathe his blade, which example the Viscount quickly
followed. However, it was a false alarm, and raised only for the
pleasure of seeing two fine gentlemen thrown into confusion. The
crowd, catching the spirit of the varlet, straightway raised a tumult,
showering the nobles with sundry jibes and insulting remarks,
considering it rare sport to have at their mercy those of high degree.

The commotion turned for a moment the mind of Winter from his first
grievance, and he bethought himself of the sorry figure he must show
with dress awry, face soiled and blood-stained, and, worse than all,
insulted dignity. Therefore he made haste to leave a company so
unappreciative, and destitute of sympathy. To Effingston, the thought
that against his better judgment he had been drawn into a public
brawl, caused his face to glow with passion, and his desire to leave
the locality was not less than that of the other. The lookers on,
finding their sport ended, did not follow, but took themselves to
other ways, and the two gentlemen, who had hurried blindly, without
attention or knowledge as to direction, soon found themselves in a
quiet street somewhat remote from the neighborhood which had witnessed
Sir Thomas Winter's discomfiture.

"My Lord of Effingston!" cried he, as he gathered together his
disturbed senses, noting the presence of his companion. "Thou hast
grievously insulted me, therefore----"

"When thou wilt!" the Viscount interrupted. "My sword is ever at thy
service."

"'Tis well!" said Winter, drawing his cloak about him; "one hour from
now in the garden of Thomas Percy, whom, methinks, is known to thee.
Yet if thou dost fear----"

Effingston shrugged his shoulders. "In Sir Percy's garden," repeated
he haughtily, and turning upon his heel left Sir Thomas in th