"You are right! We are three," he muttered, his hand slowly seeking a weapon in the corner behind him.

"You speak truth there, we are three--to one! And----" "You maybe twenty, I will not suffer it!" the lad cried gallantly.

"You may be a hundred----" But on that word, in the full tide of speech he stopped.

His voice died as suddenly as it had been raised, he stammered, his whole bearing changed.

He had met her eyes: he had read in them reproach, warning, rebuke.