plague is more beloved than the Knights of the Cross are. That is the truth of the matter."
"Yes, but what has this to do with the power of the Order?" asked Matsko, anxiously.
Zyndram smoothed his broad forehead with his hand, thought a while, as if seeking a comparison, then smiled, and inquired,—
"Have you ever fought within barriers?"
"I have, and fought frequently."
"Then what do you think—Will not a knight be thrown from his horse at the first onset, even though he be the mightiest, who has the saddle girths cut under him, and also his stirrup straps?"
"As true as life!"
"Well, do you see? the Order is a knight like that."
"It is, as God is just!" shouted Zbyshko. "Even in a book thou'lt find nothing to beat that!"
And Matsko was so excited that he said in a voice trembling somewhat,—
"God reward you. For your head, lord, the armorer must fashion a helmet purposely, as there is none ready made on earth to fit it."
