“A creek runs through the wood to the river. There needs but the appointed signal from the bank, and a boat from the Santa Teresa can be rowed up the stream to the very tree beneath which the lady sits.” My lord's laughter rang out again. “You're a man in ten thousand, Nicolo! Nicolo, the bridegroom's in town.” “Back so soon?” said the Italian. “Then we must change your lordship's plan. With him on the ground, you can no longer wait until nightfall to row downstream to the lady and the Santa Teresa. He'll come to look for her.” “Ay he'll come to look for her, curse him!” echoed my lord. “Do you think the dead will scare him?” continued the Italian. “No, I don't!” answered my lord, with an oath. “I would he were among them! An I could have killed him before I went”-- “I had devised a way to do it long ago, had not your lordship's conscience been so tender. And yet, before now, our enemies--yours and mine, my lord--have met with sudden and mysterious death. Men stared, but they ended by calling it a dispensation of Providence.” He broke off to laugh with silent, hateful laughter, as mirthful as the grin of a death's-head. “I know, I know!” said my lord impatiently. “We are not overnice, Nicolo. But between me and those who then stood in my way there had passed no challenge. This is my mortal foe, through whose heart I would drive my sword. I would give my ruby to know whether he's in the town or in the forest.” “He's in the forest,” I said. Black Lamoral and the brown mare were beside them before either moved hand or foot, or did aught but stare and stare, as though men and horses had risen from the dead. All the color was gone from my lord's face,--it looked white, drawn, and pinched; as for his companion, his countenance did not change,--never changed, I believe,--but the trembling of the feather in his hat was not caused by the wind. Jeremy Sparrow bent down from his saddle, seized the Italian under the armpits, and swung him clean from the ground up to the brown mare's neck. “Divinity and medicine,” he said genially, “soul healer and body poisoner, we'll ride double for a time,” and proceeded to bind the doctor's hands with his own scarf. The creature of venom before him writhed and struggled, but the minister's strength was as the strength of ten, and the minister's hand held him down. By this I was off Black Lamoral and facing my lord. The color had come back to his lip and cheek, and the flash to his eye. His hand went to his sword hilt. “I shall not draw mine, my lord,” I told him. “I keep troth.” He stared at me with a frown that suddenly changed into a laugh, forced and unnatural enough. “Then go thy ways, and let me go mine!” he cried. “Be complaisant, worthy captain of trainbands and Burgess from a dozen huts! The King and I will make it worth your while.” “I will not draw my sword upon you,” I replied, “but I will try a fall with you,” and I seized him by the wrist.