rengthen thou mine arm,' cried Father Anthony aloud, 'that the
wicked prevail not! Keep thou thy sheep that thou hast confided to my
keeping. Lo! the wolves are upon them!' and as he spoke his voice rang
out through the silent house. The fire of battle was in his eyes, his
nostrils smelt blood, and the man seemed exalted beyond his natural
size. Father Anthony went swiftly and barred his church doors, and
then turned into the presbytery. He flashed his sword till it caught
the light and gleamed and glanced. 'For this, for this hour, friend,'
he said, 'I have polished thee and kept thee keen. Hail, sword of the
justice of God!'

There came a thundering at the oaken door of the church. 'Open, son of
Belial!' cried a coarse voice, and then there followed a shower of
blasphemies. The men had lit down from their horses, which they had
picketed below, and had come on foot, vomiting oaths, to the church
door. Father Anthony took down the fastenings one by one. Before he
removed the last he looked towards the little altar. 'Now,' he said,
'defend Thyself, all-powerful!' and saying, he let the bar fall.

The door swung open so suddenly that three of the men fell back. The
fourth, who had been calling his blasphemies through the keyhole of
the door, remained yet on his knees. In the doorway, where they had
looked to find an infirm old man, stood a French colonel in his battle
array, the gleaming sword in his hand. The apparition was so sudden,
so unexpected, that they stood for the moment terror-stricken. Did
they think it something supernatural? as well they might, for to their
astonished eyes the splendid martial figure seemed to grow and grow,
and fill the doorway. Or perhaps they thought they had fallen in an
ambush.

Before they could recover, the sword swung in air, and the head of the
fellow kneeling rolled on the threshold of the church. The others
turned and fled. One man fell, the others with a curse stumbled over
him, recovered themselves, and sped on. Father Anthony, as you might
spit a cockroach with a long pin, drove his sword in the fallen man's
back and left it quivering. The dying scream rang in his ears as he
drew his pistols. He muttered to himself: 'If one be spared he win
return with seven worse devils. No! they must die that the innocent
may go safe,' and on the track of the flying wretches, he shot one in
the head as he ran, and the other he pierced, as he would have
dragged himself into the stirrups.