"Halt!" said the man, with a pleasant glance from his mild blue eyes. Then blood rose red to the young squire's cheek, and anger too great for any words lighted in his eyes, as his hand went to his dagger, and he urged his horse forward. It was a brave fight that he made, while the two steeds drew near and parted and drew near again, but a slender white hand with an iron grip reached deftly and snatched the dagger from his hand, nor could he reach the short sword which he had so proudly belted to his side; and the strength of his adversary was as the strength of ten.
"Nay, be not foolish," said a soft voice, as the lad struck out with stinging fist; "'tis but thy purse I ask, and it would grieve me to do thee wrong. The purses of the kingdom belong to me."
"Now, by what right?" cried Louis of Lamont, between set teeth, his cheeks flaming deeper red.
"By the right of having wit enough to get them," answered the robber. Then he pinioned the lad's arm to his side and thrust a deft hand into his pocket, drawing out a purse of wrought gold.
"It will be to thy best advantage if thou canst but see it that way," he said courteously.
In the mind of the other the vision of dark, beetling brows and red, hairy cheeks was fading.
"Thou—thou art the Robber Chief," he stammered. His adversary bowed.
"It is thou who didst murder Baron Divonne, and who didst starve the Squire's daughter of Yverton with her seven children, and"—So great was his horror of the tales that flocked to his tongue that he failed to speak them, but a light as from the wings of the Angel of Judgment shone from his eyes and brow.
"The question is not, 'Shall I take thy purse?'" the Chief said gently. "I have it. The question is, 'How shall I dispose of it to the best advantage?'"
"It isn't that! I do not want the purse," said the young man scornfully; "but how canst thou traffic in crime?"