There he stood, his face working with emotion, his eyes glaring, and his hand clasped so tightly on his sword hilt that his knuckles went white with the strain. I lunged at him again and again, fiercely, blindly, almost, until, in very shame at thrusting at one who had no weapon out, I stopped and stood breathless, like one who had run far.
“Why do you stand there, silent?” I panted. “Are you a man, or----?”
“Perchance a witch,” he replied, with an air of easy assurance. “I hear there be many hereabouts. Indeed, no later than yesterday three were hanged on the hill yonder.”
I started, in sudden fear, for his words brought back to my mind the witch trial, some months past.
For a space there was silence in the chamber, and I could hear our breaths, as we stood gazing at each other. Then he spoke.
“Well, what is it to be?” he asked. “Peace or war?”
“War!” I cried. “War to the end, now that you know what you do!”
“Very good, then,” was his answer. “But, perchance you will hearken to me for a little. Proclaim an armistice, as it were?”
I nodded, as one in a dream, for I seemed to be asleep, watching all these things transpire, but taking no part in them.
“What would you say,” he went on, “if I told you that I held a warrant from His Most Gracious Majesty, King William, for the apprehension of one Sir Francis Dane, or, as he is known now, Captain Edward Amherst? The charge being high treason.”