can fight."

Ralph turned upon the man with an angry glance, and Nick shrank back
into his old position with a sheepish grin, which, in conjunction with
his cross eyes, did not improve his personal appearance.

Without so much as glancing at his enemies, Mark now took off his cap
and smiled, for the egg he had so carefully placed in the lining was
intact.

"Well done!" he said aloud. "That's for Master Rayburn at the cottage.
Here, one of you fellows, take that to him, and say I sent it. I dare
say he'll give you a coin for your trouble."

Ram Jennings made an awkward shoot forward, and seized the egg.

"Don't break it, clumsy," cried Mark; and then with a quick motion, he
threw his cap on the grass, took a step or two back toward the edge of
the cliff, and, quick as lightning, drew his sword.

"There," he cried, with a scornful look at Ralph; "seven of you to one.
Come on."

A low growl from the men greeted this display, but Ralph did not stir,
and Mark stood for a moment or two _en garde_. Then with a bitter laugh
he continued: "I suppose I must surrender. You don't draw. Take my
sword. My arm's wrenched, and I can't use it."

As he spoke he threw his sword at Ralph's feet; his enemy picked it up
by the slight blade, and the men closed in.

This movement sent a flash of anger from their young master's eyes.

"Back," he cried hoarsely. Then taking a step or two toward Mark, and
still holding the sword by the blade, he presented the hilt to his
enemy. "Take your sword, sir," he said haughtily. "The Darleys are
gentlemen, not cowards, to take advantage of one who is down. That is
the nearest way back to Black Tor," he continued, pointing.

For a few moments Mark stood gazing at his enemy, with his face flushing
to his temples; then turning haggard and pale, as a flood of mingled
sensations rushed through him; shame, mortification, pride, anger
against self, seemed to choke all utterance, and he could not even stir.
He felt that he wanted to be brave and manly, and apologise for his
words--to thank the gallant lad before him for saving his life--to make
him see that he was a gentleman--to strike him and make him fight--to do
something brave--despicable--to do he did not know what--before he
accepted this permission to go, but he could for the moment do nothing--
say nothing.

At last, with a hoarse gasp, he literally snatched at the sword, and
glared at his enemy with a menacing look, as if he were