"That is my business." "Ay, and mine too. Know you I am a constable and carry a truncheon? Come, tell me who you are." "Ay, and let the wench show us her face," said another. "Ay, and let her give us a kiss," said the third. My anger was getting the better of me now, for not only did they say what I have written down, but much more, which must have been sorely distasteful to Mistress Constance's ears. Without any more ado, therefore, I drew my sword. "The man who approaches a step nearer will have to swallow six inches of steel," I said. Drunk as they were they started back. One, however, who did not seem quite as drunk as the others, eyed us closely. "Now, then, Peter Blewitt," he said, "you boast that you are a brave man, and you carry a truncheon. At him! At him!" But Peter Blewitt did not move. "And you say you are never frightened!" sneered the other. "You say that you will take me to the lock-up. You! you haven't the courage of a bantam cock!" This seemed to sting the drunken constable, for he made as though he would come towards me, and throwing off Mistress Constance's hand, I seized a pistol, and held it towards them. "Unless you go your way I shoot," I cried. "Now then, Peter Blewitt, surely you are not afraid of a boy's popgun? At him, man! at him!" With drunken gravity the constable drew his truncheon and came towards me. I was loth, great as the danger was, to use my weapons, for though I had been trained to the use of both, I had never had occasion to defend myself by them before. In this case my hesitation almost led to my undoing, for the feel of the truncheon having evidently given the constable fresh courage, he rushed upon me suddenly, and struck at me with all his might. He did not miss me by more than six inches, and had I not slipped aside, I should have been completely at his mercy, for he was a strong man. As it was, however, he missed me completely, and not only that, but wellnigh fell down at my feet. Peter Blewitt's action, however, proved an example for the others. "I'll see who the wench is, pistol or no pistol," I heard one say, and I saw him seize Mistress Constance's cloak, and try to pull it aside. At this I hesitated no longer, but struck at him with my sword. Whether the blade cut its way through the man's thick clothes I know not, but he dropped his arm in a moment, and then, carried away by my desire to be rid of them, I lifted my left arm and fired. I have been told since that the bullet only grazed the man's shoulder, but he cried out like one in the death agony. "I'm killed, I'm killed! Help!" he cried. At this he took to his heels, and flew as though the furies were at his heels, while the others, apparently frightened at the report of the pistol, followed him howling at the top of their voices. "Are you hurt?" asked Mistress Constance. "No; and you are safe!" "Yes. The man did not see my face. Come, let us go."