"Give him a little of the strong waters," he cried, and the founder hurriedly fetched a flask and held a glass to the wounded man's lips before the new-comer said briefly, "How was it?" "Oh, he angered and drew on me, and we had a few passes," cried the founder. "My own fault, too." "It is a mere nothing," said the other. "Why Mace, my child, don't look so white. He is a soldier evidently, and he'll bear it like a man." "Am I white, Gil?" said the girl, looking up and smiling sadly, as she thought of how her life seemed cast among warlike weapons and their works. "I am not frightened, only troubled. Father, dear, this is so sad." "It is, it is, my child. I'd have given half I have sooner than it should have happened. Hush, he's coming to." For just then the injured man sighed, opened his eyes wonderingly, gazed upwards to see who supported him, and lowered his lids again, saying softly-- "The face of an angel: is this Heaven?" "Oh, no," cried the amateur surgeon, frowning slightly as he saw Mace colour, "and if you were here sometimes, when friend Cobbe is casting cannon, you'd think it was the other place. Come, sir, let me help you up. It is a mere flesh wound, and will only smart." "Thank you, I can rise," said Sir Mark, reddening, as he made an effort and rose without assistance; but the room seemed to swim round, and he staggered and would have fallen, had not his surgeon caught him by the uninjured arm, and helped him to a seat, letting him gently down into a half-reclining position. As he did so the eyes of the two young men met, and Gilbert Carr, as he gazed into those of his patient, felt a strange sense of mistrust pass over him like a foreboding of coming trouble; while on the other side, as the smooth young courtier looked into the bright, clear grey eyes, and scanned the dark, bronzed visage bending over him, he felt that they two would be enemies for a woman's sake. "That's it--that's better," said Gilbert Carr, quietly. "You need have no fear for the consequences, sir. It is a clean cut, and will soon heal in our pure, fresh air." "I thank you," said Sir Mark, rather stiffly; "I do not fear. Madam, I grieve to have caused you this trouble," he continued, addressing Mace, who stood close by. "Nay, sir; pray do not say that. It is we who are grieved--my father." "Ay, she's right," said Cobbe, advancing. "My brave lad, I feel ashamed to face you after such a stroke." "Ashamed!" said Sir Mark, with a quiet glance at Mace; and then, seeing his advantage, he said, smiling as he held out his uninjured hand, "Never be ashamed, sir, of so gallant a handling of your sword. They tell me in London I can fence, and that enemies who have fought make the best of friends." "You are a brave true gentleman, sir," cried the founder, wringing the outstretched hand; "and I humbly ask your forgiveness for my choler. I was hot and angry. There, God bless the King; and I beg his Majesty's pardon for what I said."