THE FIRST CHALLENGE.
"The remedye agayns Ire is a vertu that men clepen Mansuetude, that is Debonairetee; and eek another vertu, that men callen Patience or Suffrance. . . . This vertu disconfiteth thyn enemy. And therefore seith the wyse man, `If thou wolt venquisse thyn enemy, lerne to suffre.'"— CHAUCER, Parson's Tale.
"You have killed him." I lowered Nat's head, stood up and accused her fiercely.
She confronted me, contemptuous yet pale. Even in my wrath I could see that her pallor had nothing to do with fear.
"Say that I have, what then?" She very deliberately unhitched the gun from her bandolier, and, after examining the lock, laid it on the turf midway between us. "As my hostage you may claim vendetta; take your shot then, and afterwards Marc'antonio shall take his."
"No, no, Englishman!" Marc'antonio ran between us while yet I stared at her without comprehending, and there was anguish in his cry. "The Princess lies to you. It was I that fired the shot—I that killed your friend!"
The girl shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "Ah, well then, Marc'antonio, since you will have it so, give me my gun again and hand yours to the cavalier. Do as I tell you, please," she commanded, as the man turned to her with a dropping jaw.
"Princess, I implore you—"
"You are a coward, Marc'antonio."
"Have it so," he answered sullenly. "It is God's truth, at all events, that I am afraid."