way from the civilisation of the time by moor and
mountain. Ralph knew, too, that though they were better then than in
the early days of the Wars of the Roses, they were still brutal enough,
and that he would gain the applause and respect of his men by giving
them the order. But Mark Eden had not drawn his sword to begin cutting
and thrusting; and instead of leaving the lad to hang till he fell, he,
Ralph Darley, had, in opposition to his father's men, risked his own
life to save that of his enemy--going down over a hundred feet, swinging
at the end of a couple of ropes badly tied together.

"Seems very stupid," the two lads thought.

"What does he mean by coming here, and getting into such a horrible
position--an idiot!" said Ralph to himself.

"How dare he, an insolent Darley, come down by a rope and save my life!"
said Mark to himself.

Then there was an awkward pause, with the two lads scowling, and
avoiding each other's gaze, and the men nudging one another, and winking
knowingly. Nick Garth whispering behind his hand to Ram Jennings, that
the young cocks would set up their hackles directly, whip out their
spurs, and there would be a fight; and, in expectation of this, the men,
six in number, now spread themselves into an arc, whose chord was the
edge of the cliff, thus enclosing the pair so as to check any design on
the part of the enemy to make a rush and escape.

Mark, who did not feel so breathless and numb now, sat up on the grass,
and resumed his old role of ignoring his enemies, putting his hands
behind him, to feel for the ravens hung from his sword-belt, taking them
out from their awkward position, to find that they were limp and
literally crushed. The reason for this was that when Ralph, as he
swung, seized him, he had to do this from behind, clasping him round the
chest, just under the arms, and then, as the rope was hauled, flinging
his legs about him to help to hold, with the consequence that they
formed a sort of sandwich, he and Mark being the slices of bread, and
the young ravens the meat.

"Hah!" said Mark softly, as if to himself; "you two will never dig out
any young lambs' eyes. Feed the fishes instead;" and, rising to his
feet, he untied his kerchief from about the dead birds' legs, and gave
each a swing, sending it on its first and last flight, out from the
cliff edge, away into the gulf.

"Now's your time, Master Ralph," whispered Nick, "Whip out your sword,
and show him how you