“Ah!” cried Cedric in a voice far other than his last speaking, “what say’st thou? Shall we not roast our meat here rather than among the leaves in the wood, where a fire in this dry time may go beyond our holding?” “Surely,” I answered, “’twill be better far to-day. Come, I’ll flay and dress the hare while thou makest ready the fire. Thou’rt ever skillful at the kindling.” So we set gayly to work; and in half an hour had our meat before us on the table. Some bread and cheese from our pouches that we toasted o’er the embers made with it a feast fit for any king on a woodland holiday. Our content with the world returned, and we sang a lusty ballad over the well-picked bones. Then, being something thirsty, Cedric started up to see if the lodge contained a pitcher with which he might fetch clear water from the stream near by. Meanwhile my eye had been caught by an old and somewhat rusted broadsword that hung on pegs over the fireplace. I reached it down at once, and, testing it with a few passes and upward strokes, found it a good blade and true; and wondered much that it should have been left in this place as something without worth. Then I saw on a bench in a darkened corner a small anvil and some armorer’s tools, and bethought me that the lodge might have been used at need for repairing arms when the Grimsby men were called to war. For a moment I had not noted Cedric’s movements; but now at a sudden word from him I wheeled about and saw him crouching at the door of an inner room of the lodge and gazing into the darkness beyond as a hound that hath run the fox to earth: I crouched beside him and looked also. The room beyond, it seems, had been used in the Dunwoodies’ time for the receiving and dressing of meat and drink and such like offices. There was a small square window, now nearly closed by its plank shutter, but admitting at the side a narrow beam of light. For a time my eyes could make out naught; but after a little I saw, beneath a bench or table in the farthest corner, first two glistening eyes, then, dimly, the form of a man. Cedric took down his cross-bow and laid a bolt in groove. “Come forth from there, my man,” he shouted, “we have thee fairly caught.” No answer came, and for a moment I doubted if we had seen aright. Then Cedric called out again: “Come forth, I tell thee. Else I’ll fairly send a quarrel through thee.” There came a low groan from the darkness, and words that seemed made with labor: “Strike then. I care not.” “What say’st thou?” called Cedric, “seest thou not I can strike thee with bolt fairly in face?” “Strike then. ’Tis better so.” Cedric turned to me with blank amaze upon his face. “Heard thou ever the like? The man defies us to the death.” Then, quickly thrusting his bow into my hands: “Hold this against mischance. There’s more to this than we know. I will fetch this fellow forth.” “Hold Cedric,” I cried, “beware lest he stab thee.”