“One good turn deserves another, Sir Barton,” the groom answered curtly; “this young mistress saved my neck from the halter at Deptford when old Lady Crabtree would have hung me as a valiant beggar. The young lady saved me, and, by Saint Michael and his angels, you shall not harm one black hair of her pretty head!”
“The devil take your insolence!” retorted Henge violently, drawing his sword and raising his arm to strike the man on the head with the flat of it, intending to administer a lesson.
But Master Cross-Eyes was more than his match in strength; he caught his arm, and twisting it back, sent the sword flying across the room, pushing Henge toward the wall as he did so. Sir Barton, now fully roused to his peril, grappled with his powerful adversary, calling loudly for help as he did so.
“What ho!” he shouted, “John! Andrew! Here, you villains, take this fellow to the gallows!”
Master Cross-Eyes laughed, much as Sir Barton had at Betty’s cries for aid.
“I sent them all below,” he said grimly; “you may scream as loud as my young lady now, and get no aid.”
The two men swayed and struggled, the vagrant having the advantage, yet closely pressed by Henge, who was no mean opponent and had the strength of wrath. They overturned the table, and the taper being extinguished, the struggle continued in darkness. Sir Barton was striving to reach the door and Cross-Eyes was pressing him away.
At first Betty was so wholly fascinated by the contest, so amazed, that she stood gazing, completely unnerved, her courage deserting her now that a champion was so suddenly raised up for her. But in a moment the full peril of her own situation returned to her mind, and she looked for a way to escape while the two were fighting. However, this was not easy; one door was still locked, and before the other the men were struggling; she could not pass them and get out, for they swayed to and fro before the entrance, and when the taper was extinguished, she could not see to move. In her extremity, she put out all her strength, and undoing the shutters at last, threw them open, and leaning from the window, screamed for the watch. In spite of the noise that the two men made fighting, she heard an answering shout, and cried out again that there was murder being done. As she did so, there was a groan of pain from Master Cross-Eyes and he fell heavily to the floor; Henge had wrenched his hand free from his adversary’s grip, and drawing his dagger, stabbed him. With an oath, Sir Barton threw open the door and snatched a taper from its socket in the hall and brought it into the room; the sudden light revealed to Betty the prostrate figure of her defender and the furious aspect of her enemy. He kicked the groom as he passed him and then picked up his sword. Seeing her last hope of escape cut off, Betty again leaned from the window and called for help. This time the reply came from the court below, and there was a noise at the door. Expecting the watch, Sir Barton turned with a curse to confront him, his naked sword in his hand. The scene was one of wild confusion; the taper he had brought, and the light from the hall showed the scene of the struggle, the overturned table and chairs, the unconscious body of the vagrant, and in the window Betty’s tall figure and white face. Henge himself stood waiting defiantly, his dress wildly disordered, and his breast heaving from his recent struggle. Footsteps came up the stairs, paused as if a stranger were looking about for the room from which the screams had issued, and then came across the hall. The next moment a man stood on the threshold, and at the sight of him Betty uttered a wild cry of amazement and joy, while Henge swore a deep oath, but recoiled a step as if he saw a ghost.
It was Simon Raby.