"Soul of my body!" cried Hogan ruefully, "I was never nearer
being afraid in my life."

Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale
of what had passed.

"Tis simple enough, faith," said Hogan coolly. "The landlord
of The Angel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his
inn - who owns a pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a
man saw perdition in. She hath, moreover, a taste for
dalliance, and my brave looks and martial trappings did for her
what her bold eyes had done for me. We were becoming the
sweetest friends, when, like an incarnate fiend, that loutish
clown, her lover, sweeps down upon us, and, with more jealousy
than wit, struck me - struck me, Harry Hogan! Soul of my body,
think of it, Cris!" And he grew red with anger at the
recollection. "I took him by the collar of his mean smock and
flung him into the kennel - the fittest bed he ever lay in.
Had he remained there it had been well for him; but the fool,
accounting himself affronted, came up to demand satisfaction.
I gave it him, and plague on it - he's dead!"

"An ugly tale," was Crispin's sour comment.

"Ugly, maybe," returned Hogan, spreading out his palms, "but
what choice had I? The fool came at me, bilbo in hand, and I
was forced to draw.'

"But not to slay, Hogan!"