Though journeying side by side, they were quite strangers to one another, an accident having brought them together upon the road, both going in the same direction. It was up the steep declivity leading from the town of Mitcheldean into the Forest, near the point where now stands a mansion called "The Wilderness." Nor were they altogether alone, two other horsemen, their respective body servants, riding at a little distance behind. It was after surmounting the slope, and having got upon level ground, that their conflict of words reached the climax described, likely to end in one of blows. For to this the fiery youth seemed determined on pushing it. Not so the other. On the contrary, he still sat composedly in his saddle, no sign of drawing sword, exhibiting a _sang froid_ curiously in contrast with the warmth he had shown in the wordy disputation. It surely could not be cowardice? If so, it must be of the most craven kind, after that demand for withdrawal of the insulting words. And as such the Cavalier conceived, or misconceived, it, crying out,-- "Draw, caitiff! Defend yourself, if you don't want me to kill you in cold blood!" "Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the other, lightly and satirically. "It's just because I don't want to kill _you_ in cold blood that I hesitate baring my blade." "A subterfuge--a lie!" shouted the youth, stung to madness by the implied taunt of his inferiority. "Do your best and worst. Draw, sirrah, or I'll run you through. Draw, I say!" "Oh, don't be in such a hurry. If I must I must, and, to oblige you, will, though it dislikes me to do murder--all the more that you've a spark of spirit. But--" "Do it if you can," interrupted the Cavalier, unheeding the compliment. "I've no fear of your murdering _me_. Maybe the boot will be on the other leg." Again that strange expression came over the face of the older man, half-admiration, half-compassion, with a scarce discernible element of anger in it. Even yet he appeared reluctant to draw his sword, and only did so when the opprobrious epithet _Lache_--for the Cavaliers spoke a smattering of French--was flung into his teeth by his now furious antagonist. At this, unsheathing, he called out,-- "Your blood be on your own head. To guard!" "For God and the King!" cried the challenger, as he tightened grasp on hilt and rein, setting himself firmly in the saddle. "For God and the People!" followed the response antagonistic.