One of these gigantic swords hung around Rudolf Donnerhugel's neck,
the point rattling against his heel, and the handle extending itself
over his left shoulder considerably above his head. He carried another
in his hand.

"Thou art punctual," he called out to Arthur Philipson, in a voice
which was distinctly heard above the roar of the waterfall, which it
seemed to rival in sullen force. "But I judged thou wouldst come
without a two-handed sword. There is my kinsman Ernest's," he said,
throwing on the ground the weapon which he carried, with the hilt
towards the young Englishman. "Look, stranger, that thou disgrace it
not, for my kinsman will never forgive me if thou dost. Or thou mayst
have mine if thou likest it better."

The Englishman looked at the weapon, with some surprise, to the use of
which he was totally unaccustomed.

"The challenger," he said, "in all countries where honour is known,
accepts the arms of the challenged."

"He who fights on a Swiss mountain, fights with a Swiss brand,"
answered Rudolf. "Think you our hands are made to handle penknives?"

"Nor are ours made to wield scythes," said Arthur; and muttered
betwixt his teeth, as he looked at the sword, which the Swiss
continued to offer him--"_Usum non habeo_, I have not proved the
weapon."

"Do you repent the bargain you have made?" said the Swiss; "if so, cry
craven, and return in safety. Speak plainly, instead of prattling