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 forthwith, or in a little you shall be dragged to my hut,"

"Have patience, O Grandfather," said Dâman sulkily. She is my wife to me. She doth not desire to go. Let her be."

"Arrogant one!" screamed the Chief. "You are indeed a brave man to dare to flout me. Already I hear the new-turned earth shouting for you to the coffin planks. You shall lend a hand to drag her to my hut."

At the word Dâman leaped to his feet. Until now, like the rest of his fellows, he had squatted humbly at the feet of the Chief—a serf in the presence of his lord; but now he stood erect, an equal facing an equal—a man defending his womenfolk from one who sought to put a shame upon them and upon him.

"Peace, Dâman! Have patience!" cried Mat Drus, his voice shaking with terror; but his son had no thought to spare for any save the Chief just then. His clear young eyes looked unflinchingly into the brutal, bloodshot orbs set in the sodden, self-indulgent face of his enemy, and the Chief's gaze faltered and quailed. Dâman's palm smote his wooden dagger-hilt with a resounding slap, and the Chief reeled hastily backward, almost losing his footing. The youngster, inspired by the passion of fury and indignation that possessed him, was lifted out of himself. The traditions of a lifetime were forgotten, together with the fear of rank and power that custom had instilled into him. The peasant had given place to the primordial man, fighting for his woman