hey faced mutually; one felt the point of his stilet, the other the
temper of his sword.

'Killing you, Angelo Guidascarpi, is the killing of a dog. But there are
such things as mad dogs. This is not a duel. It is a righteous execution,
since you force me to it: I shall deserve your thanks for saving you from
the hangman. I think you have heard that I can use my weapon. There's
death on this point for you. Make your peace with your Maker.'

Weisspriess spoke sternly. He delayed the lifting of his sword that the
bloody soul might pray.

Angelo said, 'You are a good soldier: you are a bad priest. Come on.'

A nod of magnanimous resignation to the duties of his office was the
captain's signal of readiness. He knew exactly the method of fighting
which Angelo must adopt, and he saw that his adversary was supple, and
sinewy, and very keen of eye. But, what can well compensate for even one
additional inch of steel? A superior weapon wielded by a trained wrist in
perfect coolness means victory, by every reasonable reckoning. In the
present instance, it meant nothing other than an execution, as he had
said. His contemplation of his own actual share in the performance was
nevertheless unpleasant; and it was but half willingly that he
straightened out his sword and then doubled his arm. He lessened the odds
in his favour considerably by his too accurate estimation of them. He was
also a little unmanned by the thought that a woman was to see him using
his advantage; but she stood firm in her distant corner, refusing to be
waved out of sight. Weisspriess had again to assure himself that it was
not a duel, but the enforced execution of a criminal who would not
surrender, and who was in his way. Fronting a creature that would vainly
assail him, and temporarily escape impalement by bounding and springing,
dodging and backing, now here now there, like a dangling bob-cherry, his
military gorge rose with a sickness of disgust. He had to remember as
vividly as he could realize it, that this man's life was forfeited, and
that the slaughter of him was a worthy service to Countess Anna; also,
that there were present reasons for desiring to be quit of him. He gave
Angelo two thrusts, and bled him. The skill which warded off the more
vicious one aroused his admiration.

'Pardon my blundering,' he said; 'I have never engaged a saltimbanque
before.'

They recommenced. Weisspriess began to weigh the sagacity of his
opponent's choice of open