other's breast with apparent lightness, but with a push that sent him
staggering into the room.

The young man pulled the girl in after him and closed the door.

"Thou knowest the way," he whispered. "Strike thou a light."

The trembling girl lit a candle, and as it shone upon her face Trenchon
gave a deep sigh of happiness and relief. No girl in the village could
be more fair.

The blacksmith stood, his fingers clenched with rage; but he looked
with hesitation and respect upon the burly form of the prizefighter.
Yet the old man did not flinch.

"Throw aside thy stick," he cried, "or wait until I can get me another."

Trenchon flung his stick into the corner.

"Oh! oh!" cried the girl, clasping her hands. "You must not fight." But
she appealed to her husband and not to her father, which caused a glow
of satisfaction to rise from the heart of the young man.

"Get thee out of this house," cried her father, fiercely, turning upon
her.

"Talk not thus to my wife," said Trenchon, advancing upon him.

"Thy wife?" cried the blacksmith, in amaze.