Gil fought, in spite of his apparent calmness, with terrible fury, for he was face to face with the man whom he believed to have blasted his happiness, and three times over the keenly-pointed blade he held passed through his adversary's linen shirt, literally grazing the skin.

On his own side in the dim light he had had enough to do to hold his own, for it was only by the most skilful fencing that he was able to throw aside Sir Mark's fierce thrusts, one of which inflicted a skin wound in his shoulder, and another grazed his hip.

They pressed each other in turn to and fro near the furnace-mouth, where the man who faced it gained no advantage, for he was thrown up so distinctly to his adversary's view, and then back right into the gloomiest corner of the great building, where it was so dark that the danger was the same.

The swords gritted and flashed once or twice, emitting faint sparks; the contending men's breath came thicker and faster as they strove on, the sweat in the heated place trickling down their faces in glittering beads; and the fight had grown furious as each, yielding to the fierce excitement of standing face to face with an enemy, strove with all his might to rob that foeman of his life.

At last, being the stronger and more skilful with his weapon, Gil drove his adversary back, step by step, delivering thrusts with lightning-like rapidity, every one as it succeeded the other being more feebly parried; and at last, with a strange sense of gratified passion in his breast, Gil pressed him more sorely, as he felt that he was in his power, when, just as he felt that victory was his, the tables were turned, for Sir Mark's sword which he held snapped short off at the hilt, and it was only by stepping sharply back that Gil saved his life.

For, beside himself with fury, Sir Mark seized the opportunity, and aimed so deadly a thrust that it must have passed through his opponent's body. Gil's rapid retrograde movement saved him, however, for the moment, though he tripped over the remains of a mould, and fell headlong at his adversary's feet.

"Slain in fair fight," cried Sir Mark, exultantly, as, leaping forward, he placed his foot upon his adversary's chest, and thrust at his throat.

"Not yet," cried Gil, hoarsely. "I am a sailor."

As he spoke he caught the descending blade in his hand, turned it aside, and it passed into the charcoal floor, while, before Sir Mark could repeat his thrust, he was sent staggering back as Gil sprang to his feet. Then, sharply striking aside a fresh thrust, Gil closed with his adversary; there was a brief struggle; with one hand holding Sir Mark's sword-wrist, the other raised on high, he was about to strike with his short keen dagger, when a loud cry arrested him, and Mace, followed by her father and his foreman Croftly, ran in.

"Shame on thee, Gilbert Carr," cried Mace, as she rushed between the adversaries. "Is this thy conduct towards my father's guest?"

"Thy father's guest would have run me through, mistress," he said, curtly. "I did but fight for life."

"I'll have no more of this," cried the founder, fiercely. "Gilbert Carr, there have been too much of thy swashbuckling ways."

"Nay, Master Cobbe, you are too hard upon me," said Gil. "It was a fair fight, fairly provoked."

"I'll not have my child made the prize for any fighting," cried the founder, hotly. "Mace, this is your doing."

"If Gilbert Carr made me the object for which his sword was bared,"

cried Mace, coldly, "he might have left it in its sheath."

"I have not deserved this at your hands, Mace," whispered Gil. "It is cruel, indeed."

Mace spoke not, but as she saw her lover's emotion she felt that she would rather bite out her tongue than say such words again.

"I forbade you my place, Gil Carr," cried the founder. "You are no friend to me. Sir Mark is my guest, and an officer of the King, whom you have assailed, so get you gone ere the officers of justice lay you by the heels."

"I fear no officers of justice," cried Gil, angrily; "and I presume Sir Mark is too much of a gentleman to shelter himself behind their staves."

"But you need fear them," cried the founder angrily. "What is this I hear of Abel Churr?"

"What has he dared to tell?" cried Gil, forgetting himself for the moment.

"Men with mute lips tell nought," said the founder. "Where is Abel Churr?"

"I know not," replied Gil.

"Nay, but you should know," continued the founder, as Master Peasegood and Father Brisdone came panting in from an unsuccessful search. "Tom Croftly, tell what you heard. Abel Churr was an idle raff, but he was a man, and one of us here."

As he spoke Mace's countenance changed, and she drew nearer to Gil.

"I don't know much, master," said the foundryman slowly, "only that seven days ago I saw Abel Churr half drunken, and he was boasting that he knew a secret of the captain's there which would hang him if it was known."

"He must have told you, too, Father Brisdone," said Master Peasegood, quickly.

"Abel Churr did confess to me when I encountered him in the woods, Brother Peasegood, but the words uttered in confession are sacred. I cannot tell."

"Not if a man's character is at stake," cried Master Peasegood.

"I'll soon end this," said the founder, as Gil quietly replaced his doublet and took his sword from Sir Mark's hand. "Gil Carr, speak out like a man. Where is Abel Churr?"

"I do not know," replied Gil, firmly.

"Had he some secret of yours?"

Gil paused for a moment, and his eyes encountered those of Mace gazing at him in a beseeching way, when a change seemed to come over him, and he replied frankly--

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"A secret that I wished to keep."

"How did he find it out?" said the founder.

"How do I know, sir? By creeping through the wood, and dogging my steps, I suppose."

"When did you see him last?" said the founder.

"A week ago."

"Where?"

"In the woods," replied Gil, who submitted to the examination as it were in obedience to Mace's eyes.

"And what passed there?" said the founder.

"I'll tell you," replied Gil. "I found him prying into my affairs, and I seized him."

"And threatened him?"

"Yes; I swore I would hang him to the yard-arm of my ship if I caught him again."

"Yes--and then?"

"Then I let him go."

"And since then?"

"I have not seen him since."