The girl of whom he spoke was now within the scope of the light cast by a number of lanthorns the revellers were carrying. Seeing them, and hearing the needle-maker’s rude observation, she hesitated timidly; then, bidding her servant follow her, turned toward a side street, with the evident intention of escaping insult by taking barge across the Thames from the nearest water-gate. “A ruff that wears a wench, I should say,” corrected Frazer. “Yes, and by donning such extreme attire,” declared the needle-maker, assuming an air of official importance, “she breaks the queen’s decree. It is but the duty of all good citizens like myself to stop these outlandish practices. Do you detain her, Gorm, while I fetch shears and cut the thing as the law demands.” Whereupon the mischievous Peter ran back quickly, and Gorm, with a coarse oath, staggered forward to intercept the girl. “Yes, a ruff that wears a wench,” repeated Frazer, evidently pleased with his own facetiousness. “Let be,” commanded St. Magil, and would have passed on but for his youthful comrade, who, pushing the bear-ward aside, laid hold on the girl’s arm, and, taking a lanthorn from one of the by-standers, held it before her face. At this her servant drew his sword and rushed upon Frazer savagely. But a steady rapier-point, unseen in the dark, met him full in the breast, so that he fell forward groaning, and the weapon was with difficulty withdrawn. “Nay, now, Sir Walter,” said Frazer, laughing as though nothing had happened, “this is no wench and ruff, but rather a flower, I should say, whose outer petals, drooping, form a collarette about its budding centre. It is, indeed, well to cut the petals. I shall keep them as a token;” and, leaning forward, he would have kissed the girl full upon the lips, but she stepped back quickly, with her face behind her upraised arm, and tried to elude his grasp. “Is there not _one_ gentleman?” she cried; and then, in answer, a voice above all the laughter said, sharply, “Yes, one.” It was Vytal. A few strides had brought him from the breeches-maker’s shop to the gateway, only the lodge of the bridge porter standing between “The Roebuck” and Long Southwark. The girl now stood immediately beneath the great stone arch of the gate, her eyes flashing in the lanthorn-light. For one instant Vytal looked at her, and the light fell on his face, too. “My God!” he whispered; “it is you, come to me at last!” But whatever expression his face wore then, it meant only one thing to the crowd who watched it, particularly to the bear-ward, who had been suddenly sobered by the adventure, and to the needle-maker, who had returned, long shears in hand. “’Tis the very knave we seek!” exclaimed the two, in a voice of astonishment. “Yes,” added Gorm, “and now for the reckoning.” So saying, he ran heavily away toward the river and along its bank to the Paris Garden. “Ay, ’fore Gad!” ejaculated Frazer; “but there are other debts to pay.”