"How can I strike him without doing thee a mischief, old stockfish? Get thyself away, and I’ll soon do for him." But Ralph fully understood his advantage, and wrestled with the man until they both fell to the ground over the prostrate body of Lord Woodville. The man-at-arms now got off his horse and came to the assistance of the varlet who had fallen upon Ralph, but was severely wounded. "Drive thy sword through his visor," gasped the man, whose arms were held by Ralph, who was struggling to regain his feet. The keen point played around the helmet of the esquire, who by twisting and turning his head prevented the thrust from taking effect, but, held as he was by the weight of the varlet above him, he could not hope to avoid the blow much longer. "Wrench off his helm, man!" cried the impatient man-at-arms. "How can I? Don’t you see he’s got hold of my arms?" said the other, in a gruff voice, which was growing fainter. "Stab him! why don’t ye? Stab him!" [Illustration: "HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."] Ralph made one more desperate effort; he drove his dagger into the caitiff above him, who with a deep groan ceased struggling and rolled over, thus freeing Ralph, who sprang to his feet and turned upon the man-at-arms. The young esquire still had his mace hanging from the chain slung round his right arm. Seizing it in his gauntleted hand, and transferring his dagger to his left, he struck furiously at the steel-clad figure before him, parrying at the same time with his dagger a dangerous thrust aimed at his visor. The mace crashed on the helmet of his foe, and a smothered exclamation of pain and rage came from out the barred morion. Cutting wildly at the gorget of the young esquire, the man-at-arms turned and made a dash for his horse. "Stay, man-at-arms! Turn, caitiff that thou art!" called Ralph after him. "Ah, recreant esquire, get thee gone, then, coward that thou art!" and Ralph, who was thinking more of his lord than of the pursuit of his cowardly assailant, turned back from following him to attend to his prostrate chief. As he bent over Lord Woodville, he noticed a dark patch on his shining armour. There was a deep dent in the globular breast-plate, and the broken end of a lance head was sticking in it. Ralph was in despair; the Captain of the Wight lay motionless in his harness; the silence was broken only by the cry of a sea-fowl as it circled over head, and the distant thud of the sea as it rolled on the shore below. Was Ralph the only living thing in that lonely valley among the solemn hills? He undid the buckle of his lord’s helmet, and reverently removed the cumbrous tilting-helm. As he did so he heard a faint sigh from the stricken knight, and as the moonlight fell on his noble features he opened his eyes. "My lord, my lord, thou art not dead!" cried Ralph in joy. But no answer came back, the eyes had closed again, and despair once more seized on the young esquire.