to stanch so simple a wound, and so lose all this blood--bad Tressilian
blood though it be." He laughed in the immensity of his reaction from
that momentary terror. "Stay thou there whilst I call Nick to help us
dress this scratch."

"No, no!" There was note of sudden fear in the lad's voice, and his
hand clutched at his brother's sleeve. "Nick must not know. None must
know, or I am undone else."

Sir Oliver stared, bewildered. Lionel smiled again that curious
twisted, rather frightened smile.

"I gave better than I took, Noll," said he. "Master Godolphin is as
cold by now as the snow on which I left him."

His brother's sudden start and the fixed stare from out of his slowly
paling face scared Lionel a little. He observed, almost subconsciously,
the dull red wheal that came into prominence as the colour faded out of
Sir Oliver's face, yet never thought to ask how it came there. His own
affairs possessed him too completely.

"What's this?" quoth Oliver at last, hoarsely.

Lionel dropped his eyes, unable longer to meet a glance that was
becoming terrible.

"He would have it," he growled almost sullenly, answering the reproach
that was written in every line of his brother's taut body. "I had
warned him not to cross my path. But to-night I think some madness had
seized upon him. He affronted me, Noll; he said things which it was