She spoke beseechingly and the anger in her voice was fading like the twilight. “But what interest,” I asked, “can you have in a villain and a coward?” “None, none,” she replied, “but that such a worm should linger in our house.” She swept haughtily from the room without so much as a glance behind her. Indeed I was rightly punished. My ungenerous answer had but trampled on her sweet good will. When she went out I felt as if all the light in my life went with her. Bitterly I reproached myself for my folly—nay, worse than folly. But it was now too late to mend. I could, however, carry out my resolution. I could prove that I was not a coward. It was the more easy to do because I had already considered the question of making myself known to the patroon, be the consequences what they might. So, in this state of mind, fresh from the sting of her contempt and full of despair at my own foolishness, I sought the master of the house. CHAPTER XXVI THE GREAT SECRET I found the patroon in much the same position as Louis had found him earlier that day. A few red drops showed on the scattered papers; otherwise all signs of the henchman’s death had disappeared. The patroon was seated in his leather chair with his sword in his hand when I entered. “Close the door, Vincent,” he said. I turned to do so, and almost immediately I heard a quick step behind me. A mirror on the wall warned me of my danger. I sprang aside just in time to avoid a vicious thrust of the patroon’s sword. “Coward!” I cried. “From behind.” “What have you to say of ‘from behind?’ I strike cowards and dogs from behind when they won’t show their faces—why not spies as well? Answer me that, Michael Le Bourse.” So he, too, had found me out. I dare say he had overheard my conversation with his daughter from some secret passage. He stood before me now, glaring at me with pent up passion. “Draw your sword, Mike. You have an Irish name, but a fool’s wit. Don’t you see the humor of it? The Earl and I must wait a while. But you and I, our time has come. You shall never have my daughter while I live. Draw, man, draw, or I’ll spit you like a dog.” Our swords were out and crossed in the twinkle of an eye. He fought wildly, bent upon taking my life, and careless of his own. His all depended on it, yet he was man enough not to call for help. I meanwhile stood upon the defensive and nothing more.