“One moment,” said the soldier; whereupon, leading the girl by the hand, he took her back to Watkins’s leather-shop, and without another word ushered her across the threshold. Standing then before the doorway by which she had entered, Vytal drew his rapier, while Frazer, throwing his riding-cloak to St. Magil, who saw with annoyance that a grave quarrel was now inevitable, came forward, with ease and grace regained, for the fracas had sobered him, too, and sober, he appeared, as we have said, a gentleman. His peculiarly boyish and almost innocent face, with its beardless chin and compressed lips, showed valor and determination, to which the ever-amused, patronizing look of his eyes added a certain bantering expression. The crowd, whose numbers were steadily increasing, stood concentrated to one side near the Southwark Gate, giving the combatants as wide a berth as the bridge afforded between its double file of buildings. St. Magil held the on-lookers back, his own rapier drawn in case of interference. But at present there seemed to be small chance of this, for Hugh Rouse was beyond earshot, and Watkins, who alone in the crowd espoused the captain’s cause, could do naught but argue his case in the deaf ears of the by-standers. The leather-seller’s sallow face grew paler, for although he had no doubts as to the ability of Vytal’s sword-arm, he had seen the hasty departure of Gorm, and knew its meaning. Unfortunately Alleyn, who might have been of assistance in case of need, had left at the first signs of bad blood, being a peaceable man by nature. We should mention, however, in addition to Watkins, as exceptions to the general ill-feeling, two men who watched the scene with a partial interest. These were Merfin, the bookseller, and Marlowe, who stood across the street under the sign of “The Three Bibles.” The young poet was looking at Vytal with eyes aflame, for suddenly the great martial heroism of his dramas had become corporate and vivid in this man. It did not occur to him to interfere, as, breathless, he watched the fight. The conclusion of the contest was foregone in his mind, and only the dramatic element intensely absorbing. “Now, _couragio_! my brave world-reformer!” cried Frazer. “I will show you that civilians are not all dullards at the art of fence. But before we cross I’d have you remember that I could send you before a justice an I would. There’s a statute against ruffs that are too big, and, in troth, still another against rapiers over-long. Now yours, Master Vytal, is one of these.” At this the excited Peter Sharp, who must needs have his say when the occasion offered, cried out from his position in the front rank of the audience: “Nay, ’tis a mere bodkin, and I should know, being needle-maker; but you will prove it, I doubt not.”