The vane of Halfman’s attitude towards the captive had veered strongly in the past half-hour. He had been ready to treat him well, for such was Brilliana’s pleasure; he was willing to make friends and taste the agreeables of the magnanimous victor. But the conquered man had gained no ground that morning in the heart of one of his conquerors. He ate little, which Halfman pitied; he drank little, which Halfman despised; and it was with a much-augmented disdain that he beheld Evander dash his solitary cup with water.

“Craftily qualified, curse him,” he thought; “the fellow’s a damned Cassio, and will be fumbling with his right hand and his left in a twinkle.”

In this he was disappointed; Evander’s draught wrought no havoc in his speech or demeanor; Halfman was more disappointed that the prisoner took so coldly his laudations of his lady.

“The Roundpoll is so mad to be mastered by a woman that he has not enough gentility in his thin wits to spur him to a compliment.”

His hostile thoughts brewed in his heated brain-pan till their fumes fevered him. As he led the way by stair and corridor, his mood for quarrel grew the keener that he knew his choler could find no hope of ventage with a prisoner committed to his care. And even as he thought this, chance seemed to furnish him with some occasion for satisfaction. They were passing by the open door of a room which had long been used as a place of arms at Harby, and its walls were hung with weapons of the time and weapons of an earlier generation. Halfman had passed much time there with the brisker fellows of the garrison, breaking them in to feats of weapon-play, and he smiled at the memory and the magnitude of his own dexterity. He paused for a moment at the threshold and looked round at Evander.

“Here,” he said, with a smile that was half a leer and an intonation that was little less than a sneer—“here is a spot that will scarce have enough attraction for your worship to merit your worship’s stay.”

Evander, who had been following his guide almost mechanically, enveloped in his own gray reflections, took surprised note of his companion’s changed bearing. Up to now he had been civil enough, even if his civility had not been of a quality greatly to Evander’s liking, yet now his blustering good-humor gave place to something akin to deliberate offence. But he might be mistaken, and it was not for a prisoner to snatch at straws of quarrel. Therefore he protested, courteously:

“Why should you think that a soldier takes no interest in a soldier’s tools?”

Halfman gave a shrug to his shoulders that might or might not be intended to annoy.

“Your worship is too raw a soldier to know much of these same tickers and tappers. Let us rather to the library for volumes of divinity.”

This time the intention to affront was so patent, so patent, too, that Halfman’s temper was getting the better of whatever discretion he possessed, that Evander’s face hardened, and yet for his own reasons he still spoke mildly enough:

“There is no need to call me worship, for I can claim no such title. But I think I know something of these trinkets, and with your leave will examine them.”

He passed by Halfman as he spoke and entered the room, where he immediately busied himself in the examination of some of the weapons displayed there, and apparently ignoring Halfman’s existence. Halfman watched him with a scowl for a moment and then followed him into the room.

“Your honor,” he said—“since you will not be called worship—your honor really has a use for these toys of gentlefolk?”

Evander had taken a handsome Italian rapier from its case against the wall, and, after glancing at its blade, was weighing and testing the weapon in the air. As he gave Halfman no answer, the latter took up the talk again, provocatively:

“I cannot deny that your honor showed fight briskly enough yester evening, but then it seemed little less than fight or die, and even a rat, if you corner him, will snap for dear life. Moreover, you were well ambushed, and there was a gentle lady present who would not see a rat butchered unnecessarily.”

Evander, still weighing the fine Italian blade, turned to Halfman and addressed him with an exasperating composure.

“Friend,” he said, “I have told you that I am not unacquainted with arms. When I am a free man I enforce belief in my word. As it is—”

He left his sentence uncompleted, and with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders proceeded on his journey round the room, still carrying the Italian rapier in his hand. Under his tan Halfman’s face blazed and his eyes glittered, but he spoke with a forced calm and a feigned civility:

“Say you so much? Why, I believe your honor, surely. Yet, as they say, seeing is believing, and if you are in the vein for a gentle and joyous passage with buttoned arms, I that am here to entertain your honor would not for the world’s width gainsay you.”

Evander eyed him quietly. “Are you ready at fence?” he inquired. “I shall be pleased to take a lesson from you.”

Halfman’s heart warmed at his words. “The coney creeps towards the gin,” he thought, exultantly; then he answered, aloud:

“Why, if you have a stomach for it you shall not be crossed. Here be two buttoned rapiers, true twins—length, weight, workmanship. I will beleather them in a twink. I promise you I would not hurt your honor.”

“You are very good,” Evander answered, gravely. Halfman was already busy tying two large pads of leather the size of small oranges onto the buttoned blades. While he was at work Evander occupied himself with the contents of the room until Halfman, having finished his job, advanced towards him with the weapons extended. Suddenly he paused.

“Stop!” he said. “Let us make a wager on our game. I always play with more heart so. Here is my stake.”

He began to fumble at his doublet, and presently produced from an inner pocket a great thumb-ring with a ruby in it.

“I gained that,” he said, “at the sacking of a Spanish town. ’Tis worth a pope’s ransom. Set what you please against it.”

Evander lifted the ring from the table where Halfman placed it and took it to the window to look at it closely. Presently he laid it on the table again.

“It is a goodly ring,” he observed. “The setting is old and curious, and the stone, though it has a slight flaw in it, as you have been doubtless told before now, is worth more than any poor possessions I have about my person. Wherefore I would rather we contended for love.”

Halfman shook his head. He was a thought dashed by Evander’s discovery of the blemish in the stone, and he carried off his discomfiture by bravado.

“Nay, nay,” he answered; “there is my stake. Set what you please against it, were it no more than a silver groat. I do not ask to be paid well for my lesson.”

Evander said nothing, but drew his purse from his pocket and laid it on the table. Through the meshes Halfman could see the gleam of a few pieces of gold, and the gleam cheered him, as it always did. He was ever greedy of gold, and thought the death of Crassus not unkingly.

“Choose your blade,” he said. Evander, with a quick glance at the two weapons, selected the one nearest to him, flung his hat onto a chair, stripped off his doublet, and quietly waited for his adversary. Halfman did not keep him long. He flung his hat and doublet on the floor and advanced.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Evander saluted in silence, and in another moment the antagonists engaged and the mock duello began. Halfman expected that it would be short, but it proved much shorter than he expected. He was far too good a swordsman not to know when he had encountered a better. The thing had not happened to him very often; it happened very flagrantly now. In less than five minutes Evander had placed the muffled button of his blade three times on Halfman’s person—once upon either breast, and the third time fair on the forehead, just between the eyes. The last blow was so surely delivered that had it been given with greater force it might have knocked the receiver senseless. As it was, however, it was given with such deliberate delicacy that, though Halfman’s head hummed for the moment and his eyes saw stars, he rallied quickly enough to stare at Evander where he stood with lowered point and to tender him a salutation of honest admiration.

“Great Jove of glory!” he gasped; “who was it that ran liquid steel into your spare body?”

Evander smiled at the new change in his chameleon companion.

“I learned a little fencing when I was in Paris,” he admitted. “I fear I was over-inclined for the pastime.”

“A little fencing!” Halfman ejaculated. “A little fencing! Why, man, that botte between the eyes would have done for me, even if you had not spitted both my lungs first. No one can ever say of you that you held your sword like a dancer. Give me your hand—by God! I must grip your hand.”

“Sir,” said Evander, as the pair clasped hands with the hearty clasp of true combatants, “you overpraise me; yet for your friendly praises I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Name it and it is done,” Halfman asseverated, with an oath, “were it to pluck a purple hair for you from the beard of the Grand Cham himself.”

“’Tis no such matter,” Evander answered. “I do but entreat you of your courtesy to take back your ring, for which in very truth I have no use.”

Halfman protested a little for form’s sake, then gave way, glad enough to pouch his jewel again.

“You are a gentleman,” he declared. “Come, let us taste the air in the gardens.”