“But why should not this Fulke take the quarrel in his own hands?” Dillon asked, surprised.  “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.  It would be as well not to mention whither you are going to ride.”

It was the first note that Rupert had received from Lord Fairholm, and delighted at the thought of an adventure, he called Hugh, and bade him saddle his horse.

“Shall I go with you, Master Rupert?” Hugh asked, for he generally rode behind Rupert as his orderly.

Rupert did not answer for a moment.  Lord Fairholm had asked him to tell no one; but he meant, no doubt, that he should tell none of his brother officers.  On Hugh’s silence, whatever happened, he could rely, and he would be useful to hold the horses.  At any rate, if not wanted, he could return.

“Ay, Hugh, you can come; and look you, slip a brace of pistols quietly into each of our holsters.”

With a momentary look of surprise, Hugh withdrew to carry out his instructions; and ten minutes later, Rupert, followed by his orderly, rode out of the convent.

The mill in question lay some three miles distant, and about half a mile beyond the little hamlet of Dettinheim.  It stood some distance from the road, up a quiet valley, and was half hidden in trees.  It had been worked by a stream that ran down the valley.  It was a dark, gloomy-looking structure; and the long green weeds that hung from the great wheel, where the water from the overshot trough splashed and tumbled over it, showed that it had been for some time abandoned.  These things had been noticed by Rupert when riding past it some time before, for, struck with the appearance of the mill, he had ridden up the valley to inspect it.