Betty was no coward; she put her hand to her girdle and felt the little knife there safe. She meant to kill him--or herself. She had a firm, strong wrist and she could strike; he was a powerful man, but he did not know that she was armed, and an unlooked-for blow might end the matter. She saw the evil triumph in his face and set her teeth; she would kill him. He, unconscious of her purpose, looked at her and smiled, as a devil might, who saw his prey before him. At this moment there was a strange interruption; the door that Henge had not fastened, the one that had been secured from without, opened, and the cross-eyed man entered, and closing it behind him, stood, with his arms folded on his breast, staring at Sir Barton, who, in turn, glared at him in furious surprise. “What are you here for, Master Cross-Eyes?” he exclaimed. “Get out, you rogue, or I will break a rod on your bare back and slit your ears, to boot.” The groom pointed at Betty. “She screamed,” he said sullenly; “if you hurt a hair of her head, I’ll cut your throat, my master!” “You accursed villain, you!” cried Henge, in furious anger, “how dare you threaten me? Is it for this that I dragged you from the gutter?” “Nay,” retorted Master Cross-Eyes, unmoved; “you picked me up from the slums because you wanted desperate men to do your bidding; and so I would, if the case were different, but Mistress Carew you shall not hurt.” So amazed was Henge at the varlet’s courage, that he did not spurn him from the room at once, but stared at him as if he doubted his own senses. “And wherefore?” he asked harshly; “what is Mistress Carew to you, you hound?” “One good turn deserves another, Sir Barton,” the groom answered curtly; “this young mistress saved my neck from the halter at Deptford when old Lady Crabtree would have hung me as a valiant beggar. The young lady saved me, and, by Saint Michael and his angels, you shall not harm one black hair of her pretty head!” “The devil take your insolence!” retorted Henge violently, drawing his sword and raising his arm to strike the man on the head with the flat of it, intending to administer a lesson. But Master Cross-Eyes was more than his match in strength; he caught his arm, and twisting it back, sent the sword flying across the room, pushing Henge toward the wall as he did so. Sir Barton, now fully roused to his peril, grappled with his powerful adversary, calling loudly for help as he did so. “What ho!” he shouted, “John! Andrew! Here, you villains, take this fellow to the gallows!” Master Cross-Eyes laughed, much as Sir Barton had at Betty’s cries for aid. “I sent them all below,” he said grimly; “you may scream as loud as my young lady now, and get no aid.”