“Good—very good—I grant it. There’s death, lying at our feet. Let us look at it boldly, without shrinking, without shame. What were those men? One was an evil beast, you say, and I know it to be true. He was one of those who slew my father; I would charge him, too, with my brother’s death, and by your hand I am avenged. There were three, and you were alone. There was God’s good wrath in your heart. And I call you proudly Martin Valliant. Yes, the song of the sword is yours.” The blood rose to his face. “Is my sin the less?” “What if there be no sin in the killing of such enemies? Think, why did you strike the man down?” He avoided her eyes. “To save me. Because your heart told you that these men brought me death—perhaps things that are worse than death. You killed them, but I live and am free.” She smiled bravely. “Free—to be grateful—free to swear to you from my heart that the deed was done nobly. And now—what of the morrow?” He could not rise to her rebel mood as yet; the old life still hung to him, though he realized that it was a thing of rags and tatters. “To-morrow? I cannot think of a to-morrow. Life seems to end for me in a great cliff.” She made herself look at the dead man, pointed at him with her finger. “You know whom you have killed?” “Vance, the Forest Warden.” “Roger Bland’s watchdog. And you will hang for it, Martin Valliant, in spite of twenty St. Benedicts. The Lord of Troy is not gentle with those who flout him.” He answered sullenly, “If I hang—I hang.” Mellis went closer, and looked steadily into his face. “And I, Martin Valliant, I shall hang on the same gibbet.” He threw his head back, with a tightening of the mouth and a hardening of the eyes. “God forbid!” “Roger Bland of Troy will not forbid it. We shall hang, Martin Valliant, unless——” He opened and shut his hands as though blindly striving to grip the truth. “I am a broken man—but you——” “Broken, say you? And before God—why? What are we but rebels, outlaws, so long as Crookback rules and such hounds as Bland hunt at his bidding? My troth is pledged to another king. Broken?—never! What, shall I not fight for my life against my enemies—aye, and with a good heart? And you, Martin Valliant?” “I—fight—to save myself?” “Would you let them lead you off like an ox to be pole-axed?” “I have vowed——” “God have pity on you, Martin Valliant. Where are your vows now? Blown to the winds. No, I’ll not suffer you to go with meek madness to your death. Answer me—will you not fight for your own life?” He thought awhile, and then answered stubbornly, “No.” Mellis drew a deep breath. “Before God, then, will you fight for mine?” He faltered, looked at her, and his face flamed to her challenge. “For you? To save you?” He bowed his head. “Yes—to the death, so that you may live.” She held out her hands to him, her eyes shining. “Martin Valliant, let us be comrades, let us swear troth to each other.”