At last, beside himself with rage, the captain attempted to close with and throw his opponent. He could scarcely have made a more unfortunate move. For a few moments the two men swung and swayed; then Aglionby described a semicircle over Sherebiah’s shoulder, and fell with a resounding thud to the ground. Neither combatant was aware that for some time a spectator had been silently watching them. Harry Rochester, coming whistling through the trees, had halted in surprise, at the edge of the glade, as his eyes took in the scene. "There now, ’tis over and done," said Sherebiah, stooping to pick up his coat. "That score’s wiped off. Stand on your feet, man! And I’ll trouble ’ee for your sword." The captain staggered to his feet. He was in no condition to refuse the victor’s demand. Sherebiah took the weapon and broke it across his knee. From his own pocket he then took the captain’s pistols. He carefully drew their charges, and handed them back. "Now, hie ’ee to Flanders," he said. "You’ve done more fighten this mornin’ than you’ll ever do there. You’ll find Jenny on the road." The captain glared at him, and seemed about to reply. But he thought better of it, and with a vindictive glare walked slowly away. "What’s it all about, Sherry?" said Harry, stepping forward when Aglionby had disappeared. "Ah, that be ’ee, sir? ’Twas only a little small matter o’ difference ’twixt Cap’n Aglionby and me. We’re quits now." "You’ll have to get Mistress Joplady to give you a raw steak for your eye." "Ay sure, Cap’n did get in a hit or two," replied Sherebiah placidly. "I didn’t know you were such a fighter." Sherebiah gave him a quick look out of his uninjured eye. "Nay, I bean’t a fighter, not me," he said. "I’m a man o’ peace; I be so." *CHAPTER IV* *Mynheer Jan Grootz and Another* The Gaffer Chops Logic—In Print—The London Coach—Simple Annals—A Village Hampden—Bereft—An Offer of Service—A Hearty Send-off—Outside Passengers—Introductions—Contractor to the Forces—Followed—The Man on the Road—Sherebiah Muses It was a dull, damp day towards the end of November, a little more than four months after Captain Aglionby’s unhappy departure from Winton St. Mary. There was again great bustle at the Berkeley Arms; Mistress Joplady’s ample face was red with exertion, and her voice, when she gave directions to her servants, was raised to an acrimonious pitch far from usual with her. The whole village appeared to be gathered either within or without the inn. Gaffer Minshull was there, seated with his back to the wall and leaning on his inseparable staff. Lumpy, Soapy Dick, Long Robin the tanner, Old Everlasting the miller, stood in a group about the door, talking to the ostler, who stood guard, with arms akimbo, over four brimming pails of water ranged along the wall.