"Have at thee, caitiff!"
A terrible conflict ensues. Cathro draws first blood. 'Tis but a scratch. Ha! well thrust, Stroke. In vain Cathro girns his teeth. Inch by inch he is driven back, he slips, he recovers, he pants, he is apparently about to fling himself down the steep bank and so find safety in flight, but he comes on again.
("What are you doing? You run now.")
("I ken, but I'm sweer!")
("Off you go.")
Even as Stroke is about to press home, the cowardly foe flings himself down the steep bank and rolls out of sight. He will give no more trouble to-night; and the victor turns to the Lady Grizel, who had been repinning the silk scarf across her breast, while the issue of the combat was still in doubt.
("Now, then, Grizel, you kiss my hand.")
("I tell you I won't.")
("Well, then, go on your knees to me.")
("You needn't think it.")