"How does thee hold it, Friend Schmidt? Ah, so?"
In a moment the German knew that he was crossing blades with a master of the small sword. Margaret and De Courval looked on merrily exchanging gay glances.
"Dead," cried De Forest, as he struck fair over the German's heart, "and a damn good hit!"
"Well played!" cried Schmidt—"the jest and the rapier. Another bout—no!" To his surprise he saw the Quaker gentleman's face change as he hastily put on his coat.
"Thank thee," he said to De Courval as the young man handed him his hat, and without other words than "I bid thee good day. I shall not bide this afternoon," went into the hall and out of the farther door, passing with bowed head and without a word a gentleman who entered.
Schmidt showed little of the astonishment easily read on De Courval's face, who, however, said nothing, having been taught to be chary of comments on his elders; and now taking up his foil again, fell on guard.
"A man haunted by his past," said Schmidt, as was in fact explained at breakfast next day, when Mrs. Swanwick, being questioned, said: "Yes. He was a colonel in the war, and of reckless courage. Later he returned to Friends, and now and then has lapses in his language and his ways, and is filled with remorse."
"The call of the sword was too much for him," said Schmidt. "I can comprehend that. But he had a minute of the joy of battle."
"And then," said the Pearl, "he had a war with himself."