"Ah, Sir Max, it was beautifully done," said Yolanda. "You sprang upon
the rock with the quickness of a panther, and the blow was dealt with
the strength of a lion. I saw it all. When your battle-axe rose above
the robber's head, death was written on the steel. It was beautiful to
see you kill him, Sir Max. Strength is always beautiful in the eyes of a
woman, but it is doubly so when used in her defence and linked with
'wise bravery.' I thank you, Sir Karl, for teaching me that word. Sir
Max, I--I cannot thank you now."

She stopped speaking and covered her face with her hands. In a moment
she partly recovered composure and smiled her gratitude through a little
shower of tears. Max was, of course, aglow with pleasure at Yolanda's
praise, but he bore his honors meekly. He did not look upon his
tremendous feat of arms as of much importance.

Fearing the return of the Schwartreiter with reënforcements, we lost no
time in resuming our journey, Max and Yolanda quickly finished their
dinner, but Castleman, Twonette, and myself did not care to eat.

Within ten minutes after Max had killed the captain of the Black Riders
we were on our road travelling downhill, very joyful in our victory and
very proud of our knight, Sir Max. We left the dead men by the roadside,
but took with us two fine horses as compensation for our trouble. The
captain's great charger Max appropriated for his own. He will appear
again in this chronicle.

We rode silently but joyfully. Twonette slowly recovered from her
fright, and the pink crept back to her cheeks. The pink had not left
Yolanda's cheeks, nor had her nerves been disturbed by the adventures of