Her rapier swept a circle before her; the foremost man jumped back with a curse, but the fellow to the right sprang in to aim a vicious blow at Prudence’s head. The rapier shot out, and the point struck home. Came a gasp, and a check: the cloak, unerringly thrown, descended smotheringly over the wounded man’s head, and there was at once a tangle of cloth and hot oaths.
Prudence made lightning use of this momentary diminution in the number of her assailants, parried a blow aimed at her sword arm, sprang sideways a little, and lunged forward the length of her arm. There was a groan, and the sword came away red, while the cudgel fell clattering to earth.
She was breathless and panting; this could not last. Even now the third man had got himself free of the cloak, and was creeping on her with it held in his hand. She guessed he meant to catch at her blade through it, and her heart sank. She thrust shrewdly at the man before her, and staggered under a blow from a cudgel on her left. She was nearly spent, and she knew that a few moments more must end it.
Then, from a little way down the street came a shout, and the sound of a man running. “Hold them, lad, I’m with you!” cried the newcomer, and Prudence recognised the voice of Mr. Belfort.
He fell upon her assailants from the rear, and there was swift and bloody work done. With a howl the man Prudence had first wounded went running off down the street, one hand clipped to his shoulder. His flight was a signal for the other two to follow suit. In another minute the street was empty, save for Prudence and the Honourable Charles.
Mr. Belfort leaned panting on his sword, and laughed hugely. “Gad, see ’em run!” he said. “Hey, are you hurt, lad?”
Prudence was leaning against the wall, dizzy and shaken. The shoulder which had sustained the blow from the cudgel ached sickeningly. With an effort she stood upright. “Naught. A blow on the shoulder, no more.” She swayed, but mastered the threatened faintness, and bent to pick up her cloak. Her hand shook slightly as she wiped her sword in its folds, but she managed to smile. “I have—to thank you—for your prompt assistance,” she said, trying to get her breath. “I rather thought I was sped.”
“Ay, three to one, blister them,” nodded Mr. Belfort. “But white-livered curs, ’pon my soul. Not an ounce of fight in ’em. Here, take my arm.”
Prudence leaned gratefully on it. “Just a momentary breathlessness,” she said. “I am well enough now.”
“Gad, it must have been a nasty blow!” said Mr. Belfort. “You are shaken to bits, man. Come home with me; my lodging is nearer than yours.”
“No, no, I thank you!” Prudence said earnestly. “The blow—struck an old wound. I hardly heed it now.”
“Tare an’ ’ouns, but that’s bad!” cried Mr. Belfort. “Really, my dear fellow, you must come to my place and let me look to it.”
“On my honour, sir, it’s less than naught. You may see for yourself I am quite recovered now. I shall not trespass on your hospitality at this hour of night.”
He protested that the night was young yet, but not to all his entreaties would Prudence yield. They walked on together towards Charing Cross, the Honourable Charles still adjuring Prudence at intervals to go home with him. “By gad, sir, these Mohocks become a positive scandal!” he exclaimed. “A gentleman mayn’t walk abroad, damme, without being set upon these days!”
“Mohocks?” Prudence said. “You think they were Mohocks, then?”
“Why, what else? The town’s teeming with ’em. I was set on myself t’other day. Stretched one fellow flat!”
Prudence thought of the words she had caught as she had come up to the embrasure. A rough voice had growled: “This is our man, boys.” She said nothing of this, however, to Mr. Belfort, but assented that without doubt the men had been Mohocks, intent on robbery.
“A good thing ’twas I left Devereux’s rooms directly after you,” said Mr. Belfort. “But that Burgundy, y’know—demned poor stuff, my boy! There was no staying longer. How a man can get drunk on it beats me. Look at me now! Sober as a judge, Peter! Yet there’s poor Devereux almost under the table already.”
They parted company at Charing Cross, where Mr. Belfort saw Prudence solicitously into a chair. She was borne off west to Arlington Street, and set down safely outside my lady’s house.
A light burned still in Robin’s room. Sure, the child would never go to bed until she was come home. She went softly in, and found Robin reading by the light of three candles.
Robin looked up. “My felicitations. You escaped betimes.” His eyes narrowed, and he got up. “Oh? What’s toward, child?” he said sharply, and came across to Prudence’s side.
She laughed. “What, do I look a corpse? I was near enough to it. But there are no bones broken, I believe.”
The beautifully curved lips straightened to a thin line; Prudence saw her brother’s eyes keen and anxious. “Be a little plain with me, child. You’ve sustained some hurt?”
“No more than a bruise, I think, but oh, Robin, it hurt!” Again she laughed, but there was a quiver in her voice. “Help me to come out of this coat; ’tis on my left shoulder.”
The shoulder was swiftly bared and an ugly bruise disclosed. There came a soft curse from Robin. “Who did it?”
“Now, how should I know? Charles spoke of the Mohocks.”
Robin was searching on
