Inside the barn the Frenchman was hurriedly buckling saddle-girths. Beauvallet's mare was bridled already. A lantern stood upon the baked mud floor, and the Frenchman's cloak and hat were flung down beside it. His fingers trembled a little as he tugged at the straps; his back was turned towards the door. There came a sound to make him jump well-nigh out of his skin, and spin round to face the door. Sir Nicholas stood there with a naked sword in his hand, laughing at him. "Oho, my young iniquity!" said Sir Nicholas, and laughed again. "Now I think you are shent!" For an instant the Frenchman stood at gaze, his face all twisted with fury. And Beauvallet set his sword point to the ground, and laughed at his discomfiture. Then, suddenly, the Frenchman sprang forward, tearing his sword from the scabbard, and in his leap contrived to kick over the lantern, and put out its frail light. Sir Nicholas stood in the shaft of moonlight in the open doorway, but all else in the barn was pitch dark. Beauvallet's sword flashed out before him; he sprang lightly to one side, felt a blade thrust within a hair's breadth of his shoulder, and lunged swiftly forward. His point went home; there was a choked gurgle, the clatter of a sword falling to earth, and a dull thud. Beauvallet swore beneath his breath, and stood listening, backed against the wall, with a shortened sword. Only the uneasy snorting and pawing of the horses broke the silence. He moved forward cautiously, and stumbled against something that lay on the ground at his feet. "God's Body, have I killed the boy?" he muttered, and bent over the still figure. Across the yard Joshua came running at full-tilt, and bounded into the barn. "'Swounds! What's here? Master? Sir Nicholas!" "A plague on your screechings! Help me with this carcass." "What, dead?" gasped Joshua, feeling in the darkness. "I know not." Sir Nicholas spoke curtly. "Take you his legs, and help me to bear him out. So!" They carried their burden out into the moonlight, and laid it down on the cobbles. Beauvallet knelt, and stripped open the elegant doublet, feeling for the heart. A clean-edged wound was there, deep and true. "Peste, I thrust better than I knew," Beauvallet muttered. "The devil! But the young traitor sought to murder me. What's this?" A silken packet was in his hand, attached to a riband about the dead man's neck. "Open," said Joshua, shivering. "Perchance you might learn his name." "What should that benefit me, fool?" But Sir Nicholas took the packet, and thrust it into his doublet. "This is to ruin all. We must bury him, Joshua, and that speedily. No noise mind!" "Bury! With your sword?" Joshua said. "The evil hour! Nay, wait! As I remember there are tools within the barn."