But the notion was too wild, its accomplishment too impossible.
He was fighting now with his back to mademoiselle and his face to the tall window, through the leaded panes of which he caught the distorted shape of a crescent moon.

Suddenly the idea came to him.

Through that window must lie his way.

It was a good fifty feet above the moat, he knew, and if he essayed to leap it, it must be an even chance that he would be killed in leaping.

But the chance of death was a certain one if he tarried where he was until others came to support his present opponents.