The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with his face turned over his shoulder. He watched every movement of the fantastic exhibition with fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so terrible was the display in that quiet, dim-lit room. Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of the modish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the lad with a smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin cheeks, and sane eyes.
"'Tis a pretty art—this of the French rapier," he said, "and I make a point of keeping my wrist limber for it."
"Yes, sir," said Ouenwa.
Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat down despondently in the nearest chair. Ouenwa saw, at a glance, that his presence was already forgotten. With furtive movements and such haste as he could manage, he began replacing some of the books and selecting others to carry away with him.
"Sweeting," said the baronet, "a pipe of tobacco would rest me."
Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his strange mood, believed that Mistress Beatrix was in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not to point out the little mistake. He got up noiselessly and filled the bowl of a long pipe from a great jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter of wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at the fire. Stepping softly to the baronet's side, he placed the pipe in his hand, and held the light to the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively and unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books and left the cabin. Fear of Sir Ralph's wild manner was cold in his veins.