"Oh! joy—oh! Robin, dear, dear Robin, Heaven has sent you to deliver me from this villain!"
At the sight of their meeting and the maddening certainty of his own utter discomfiture, Sir Geoffrey could not contain his fury, but drawing his sword, would have hurled himself upon Robin had not Prue stood between them with outstretched arms.
"Stand aside, woman!" he vociferated, beside himself with rage. "Must I kill you to get at him? Coward! are you going to shelter yourself behind a woman?"
"Stand aside, Prue," said Robin, in a tone she dared not disobey, and drawing his sword he placed himself on the defensive.
Sir Geoffrey was an adroit swordsman and a practised duellist, but he soon found he had no mean antagonist in Robin. It was a match between the clever master of fence and the soldier accustomed to fight with his life in his hand, regardless of carte and tierce. At pose and trick Sir Geoffrey was the superior, but he was under the disadvantage of a tempestuous fury that prevented his making the best use of the dexterity that had brought him out victor from numerous encounters, while Robin's coolness more than compensated for lack of finesse, and his skill as a swordsman soon proved itself. Sir Geoffrey, in spite of his passionate onslaught, was gradually beaten off the roadside and driven step by step to the door of the inn, where Robin, calm as though they had been merely fencing for amusement, goaded him into rashness with an exaggerated display of caution, and taking quick advantage of a wild lunge, disarmed him and sent his sword flying a dozen paces away.
At the clash of weapons and sound of warfare, the inn-door opened a few inches and a bald old head peered cautiously out.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" piped a trembling voice, "mine is a respectable house; pray you do not get me into trouble. I implore you, if there is murder to be done, for Heaven's sake go a little farther up the road; there is a quiet spot, not five minutes' walk away, where no one will disturb you while you kill each other."
"It is all over, good mine host; 'twas but a friendly bout; no one is the worse for it by so much as a cut finger," laughed Robin. "Steve, pick up Sir Geoffrey's sword and restore it to him. Escort him into the inn and treat him courteously until I call for you." As they disappeared, he turned to Prue, who had watched the duel with mingled fear and joy, and now hurried to his outstretched arms.
"Oh! Robin; why didn't you kill him?" she cried.
"Why, 'twas a duel, dearest Prue, not an assassination—" he began.