“Meet you!” ejaculated Marlowe, still with eyes on every movement of the adversaries. “No man could hold out singly—against—this army. I came to save your life—not for some intrigue.” “An you call it that,” returned Vytal, who was now pressed closer than ever by St. Magil, Frazer, and the cursing bear-wards, “’twere better—to fight against me! Could you defend the door, I’d go myself—quick!—the game fails us—Save her—’tis what I fight for—see—ah, they have us; we’re lost an you tarry longer—quick—quick, into the shop—” and with that, Vytal, assuming a more aggressive method than hitherto, so drove back his opponents, by the sheer determination and boldness of his attack, that Marlowe, finding space to retreat, and being persuaded by the other’s vehemence, pushed the shop-door open behind him, and, with his rapier still in play, stepped back across the threshold. Once within the shop he closed the door, to which Vytal fell back again slowly, and, maintaining his old position, made further ingress for the moment impossible. But the odds were now almost hopelessly against the soldier. Frazer had borrowed a broadsword, and, together with St. Magil and three of the bear-wards, who out of six alone remained unwounded, sought to break through Vytal’s wonderful defence. Fortunately only St. Magil and his companion were dexterous swordsmen. It was the numbers, not the skill, of his additional opponents that Vytal feared. But Frazer’s broadsword, although somewhat unwieldy in an unaccustomed hand, by its mere weight had nearly outdone the light rapier opposing it. The soldier, therefore, sought to keep this heavy blade entirely on the defensive, realizing that if once Frazer were allowed to swing it freely it would doubtless strike through the cleverest rapier parry that could possibly seek to avert its downward cleavage. Few contests have shown a shrewder scientific skill in fencing than Vytal now pitted against the superior force of his antagonists. Thrusting viciously at Frazer, he appeared to neglect his own guard, save where he opposed his poniard against St. Magil’s rapier. By this feint he accomplished a well-conceived end, rendering Frazer’s great sword merely a defensive weapon, and exposing his breast invitingly to the foremost of the unsuspecting bear-wards, who lunged toward the opening so recklessly as to neglect his own defence. In that instant Vytal’s rapier, like lightning, turned aside from its feigned attack on Frazer and pierced the bear-ward’s breast. As the mortally wounded man fell back, momentarily hindering the onslaught of his friends, the voice of Gammer Watkins reached Vytal from within the shop. “Fool!” she cried to him, “you fight for naught. The bird ha’ flown already with another—ha, the coxcomb robs you of your game—”