"Unless he is the rankest of cowards he might surely consider himself a match for our little cornet ?" "Our little cornet has a neat hand with the foils," Lord Fairholm said drily, "and Master Fulke is not unacquainted with the fact." "Why, Rupert," Dillon said, turning to him, "you have never said that you ever had a foil in your hand!" "You never asked me," Rupert said, smiling.

"But I have practised somewhat with the colonel my grandfather.

And now it is time to be off, Dillon; we have to walk back." Four days later, as Rupert Holliday was standing in the barrack yard, his troop having just been dismissed drill, a trooper of the 1st dragoons rode into the yard, and after asking a question of one of the men, rode up to him and handed him a note.
Somewhat surprised he opened it, and read as follows: "My dear Master Holliday--Sir John Loveday and myself are engaged in an adventure which promises some entertainment, albeit it is not without a spice of danger.

We need a good comrade who can on occasion use his sword, and we know that we can rely on you.

On receipt of this, please mount your horse and ride to the old mill which lies back from the road in the valley beyond Dettinheim.
There you will find your sincere friend, Fairholm.
"P.S.