a second and calmly surveyed his antagonist with a critical
scrutiny. Sir Lionel was short and stout and puffy; Bertram
Ingledew was tall and strong and well-knit and athletic. After an
instant's pause, during which the doughty baronet stood doubling
his fat fists and glaring silent wrath at his lither opponent,
Bertram made a sudden dart forward, seized the little stout man
bodily in his stalwart arms, and lifting him like a baby, in spite
of kicks and struggles, carried him a hundred paces to one side of
the path, where he laid him down gingerly without unnecessary
violence on a bed of young bracken. Then he returned quite calmly,
as if nothing had happened, to Frida's side, with that quiet little
smile on his unruffled countenance.

Frida had not quite approved of all this small episode, for she too
believed in the righteousness of taboo, like most other Englishwomen,
and devoutly accepted the common priestly doctrine, that the earth
is the landlord's and the fulness thereof; but still, being a woman,
and therefore an admirer of physical strength in men, she could not
help applauding to herself the masterly way in which her squire had
carried his antagonist captive. When he returned, she beamed upon
him with friendly confidence. But Philip was very much frightened
indeed.

"You'll have to pay for this, you know," he said. "This is a law-
abiding land. He'll bring an action against you for assault and
battery; and you'll get three months for it."

"I don't think so," Bertram answered, still placid and unruffled.
"There were three of us who saw him; and it was a very ignominious
position indeed for a person who sets up to be a great chief in the