With his arms round the robber's burly body and his face buried in
his bushy beard, Aylward gasped and strained and heaved. Back and
forward in the dusty road the two men stamped and staggered, a
grim wrestling-match, with life for the prize. Twice the great
strength of the outlaw had Aylward nearly down, and twice with his
greater youth and skill the archer restored his grip and his
balance. Then at last his turn came. He slipped his leg behind
the other's knee, and, giving a mighty wrench, tore him across it.
With a hoarse shout the outlaw toppled backward and had hardly
reached the ground before Aylward had his knee upon his chest and
his short sword deep in his beard and pointed to his throat.
"By these ten finger-bones!" he gasped, "one more struggle and it
is your last!"
The man lay still enough, for he was half-stunned by the crashing
fall. Aylward looked round him, but the woman had disappeared.
At the first blow struck she had vanished into the forest. He
began to have fears for his master, thinking that he perhaps had
been lured into some deathtrap; but his forebodings were soon at
rest, for Nigel himself came hastening down the road, which he had
struck some distance from the spot where he left it.
"By Saint Paul!" he cried, "who is this man on whom you are
perched, and where is the lady who has honored us so far as to
crave our help? Alas, that I have been unable to find her
father!"
"As well for you, fair sir," said Aylward, "for I am of opinion
that her father was the Devil.
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