reached the drawbridge, when I heard the sounds of tumult and was
twice fired at,--once, as I have since learned, by my friends,
under the impression that I was the escaping Rupert of Glasgow, and
once by Black Michael's myrmidons, under the belief that I was the
King. I was struck by the fact that these resemblances were
confusing and unfortunate! At this moment, however, I caught sight
of a kilted figure leaping from a lower window into the moat. Some
instinct impelled me to follow it. It rapidly crossed the moat and
plunged into the forest, with me in pursuit. I gained upon it;
suddenly it turned, and I found myself again confronted with
MYSELF--and apparently the King! But that very resemblance made me
recognize the Scotch pretender, Rupert of Glasgow. Yet he would
have been called a "braw laddie," and his handsome face showed a
laughing good humor, even while he opposed me, claymore in hand.

"Bide a wee, Maister Rupert Razorbill," he said lightly, lowering
his sword, "before we slit ane anither's weasands. I'm no claimin'
any descent frae kings, and I'm no acceptin' any auld wife's
clavers against my women forbears, as ye are! I'm just paid gude
honest siller by Black Michael for the using of ma face and figure--
sic time as his Majesty is tae worse frae trink! And I'm
commeesioned frae Michael to ask ye what price YE would take to
join me in performing these duties--turn and turn aboot. Eh,
laddie--but he would pay ye mair than that daft beggar, Spitz."

Rage and disgust overpowered me. "And THIS is my answer," I said,
rushing upon him.

I have said earlier in these pages that I was a "strong" swordsman.
In point of fact, I had carefully studied in the transpontine