Mark, who did not feel so breathless and numb now, sat up on the grass, and resumed his old role of ignoring his enemies, putting his hands behind him, to feel for the ravens hung from his sword-belt, taking them out from their awkward position, to find that they were limp and literally crushed. The reason for this was that when Ralph, as he swung, seized him, he had to do this from behind, clasping him round the chest, just under the arms, and then, as the rope was hauled, flinging his legs about him to help to hold, with the consequence that they formed a sort of sandwich, he and Mark being the slices of bread, and the young ravens the meat. "Hah!" said Mark softly, as if to himself; "you two will never dig out any young lambs' eyes. Feed the fishes instead;" and, rising to his feet, he untied his kerchief from about the dead birds' legs, and gave each a swing, sending it on its first and last flight, out from the cliff edge, away into the gulf. "Now's your time, Master Ralph," whispered Nick, "Whip out your sword, and show him how you can fight." Ralph turned upon the man with an angry glance, and Nick shrank back into his old position with a sheepish grin, which, in conjunction with his cross eyes, did not improve his personal appearance. Without so much as glancing at his enemies, Mark now took off his cap and smiled, for the egg he had so carefully placed in the lining was intact. "Well done!" he said aloud. "That's for Master Rayburn at the cottage. Here, one of you fellows, take that to him, and say I sent it. I dare say he'll give you a coin for your trouble." Ram Jennings made an awkward shoot forward, and seized the egg. "Don't break it, clumsy," cried Mark; and then with a quick motion, he threw his cap on the grass, took a step or two back toward the edge of the cliff, and, quick as lightning, drew his sword. "There," he cried, with a scornful look at Ralph; "seven of you to one. Come on." A low growl from the men greeted this display, but Ralph did not stir, and Mark stood for a moment or two _en garde_. Then with a bitter laugh he continued: "I suppose I must surrender. You don't draw. Take my sword. My arm's wrenched, and I can't use it." As he spoke he threw his sword at Ralph's feet; his enemy picked it up by the slight blade, and the men closed in. This movement sent a flash of anger from their young master's eyes. "Back," he cried hoarsely. Then taking a step or two toward Mark, and still holding the sword by the blade, he presented the hilt to his enemy. "Take your sword, sir," he said haughtily. "The Darleys are gentlemen, not cowards, to take advantage of one who is down. That is the nearest way back to Black Tor," he continued, pointing.