"As to mirrors," replied Winter, "those in the King's chamber have revealed to thee their ways, then. Thinkest thou nothing is known concerning the purpose of my Lord Monteagle in instructing thee as to Puritanism." Effingston bit his lip. "'Tis befitting thy manhood, Sir Winter, having bribed a dastardly servant to give false testimony of what was listened to from behind a curtain, that thou shouldst insult one whose cloak buckle thou art unworthy to loosen. 'Twas a fair representation of thy character, a good showing of thy principles. If it be in thy mind to prate further, get thee into the market place, where, mounted upon an ass, thou mayst draw around thee certain of the populace whose wont it is to gather for such discourse." This was spoken with a mock gallantry which the Viscount could well assume, and deprived the other for a moment of utterance. Overcome by anger, and surprised that the insults heaped upon the Viscount were met with contempt, he forgot himself so far as to bring the name of Mistress Fawkes into the quarrel. "Thou dost but jest with me," he cried, taking a step nearer his rival; "perchance, having come from the arms of thy mistress, thy wits are so dulled that----" The reply of Effingston was sudden and unexpected. Resolved to avoid an open quarrel with one whom he considered beneath him, he had sought to return words, only, to the other's insults, but the reference to one whom he had held most dear, fired his brain. Scarce had Winter uttered the base accusation when the young nobleman snatched off his heavy gauntlet and with it struck him across the face; so great was the force of the blow that the other staggered, lost his footing on the slippery street, and fell at the feet of his enemy. Having thus given expression to his anger, Effingston calmly replaced the glove, and with hand upon hilt, awaited the arising of his companion. Stunned for the moment by so sturdy a buffet, Winter remained motionless for a little space, but soon regained his feet, and, with garments soiled and earth stained, with blood upon his face, drew his sword and made as though he would thrust the Viscount through. Effingston drew also, and more serious results would have followed had not one in the crowd which had gathered to watch the ending of the quarrel, cried that the King's soldiers were approaching. Sobered by the danger which threatened him, for the arrest of a Catholic with sword in hand was like to bring evil consequence, Winter made haste to sheathe his blade, which example the Viscount quickly followed. However, it was a false alarm, and raised only for the pleasure of seeing two fine gentlemen thrown into confusion. The crowd, catching the spirit of the varlet, straightway raised a tumult, showering the nobles with sundry jibes and insulting remarks, considering it rare sport to have at their mercy those of high degree.