ft play of the blades, sank down for a few
moments' rest. "Even though one be small of stature and weak of strength,
dexterity with the sword may make him master of a much larger adversary.
I could tell thee tales, lad, as would make thy hair to rise of the way I
have seen the sword used. Have to, boy! I have but little more time to
give thee. Thou art an apt scholar! So! that was a good parry. A little
removing of the foot, a sudden turning of the hands, a slight declining
of the body, and thine opponent is at thy mercy. So, lad, so!"

[Illustration: _THE TWO WERE DEEP IN THE MYSTERIES OF FENCING_]

The fencing lesson was repeated the next day. Francis no longer dreaded
the meeting with Edward Devereaux, and when the night fell, she stole
away to the dueling place confident that she would be the victor in the
affair.

There was no one at the wicket of the western gate, and she sat down to
await the coming of her adversary with impatience. The broad yellow beams
of the full moon lighted up the open spaces of the park with a brightness
as if the sun had just set while the shadows under the trees were darker
and heavier by contrast. Numerous statues gleamed in the pale light like
ghosts newly risen from their sepulchres. Fountains threw jets of water
into the air, caught the moonbeams, and fell again into their basins in
showers of molten silver. A light breeze ruffled the leaves and came with
refreshing coolness after the sultriness of the day. All was still save
for the music of the night bird of song. The beauty of the scene, the
melody of the nightingales, oppressed Francis with a sense of
melancholy.

"Am I doing aright," she said aloud. "Surely I could do naught else
unless I betrayed my sex. Now the matter hath gone so far that I must
bear myself as if I were in sooth a boy. But I will not kill the lad.
Only make him acknowledge my skill with the deer. I would that he would
come. I know not why, but I feel my courage departing from me in the
loneliness of the night."

At this instant, as if in answer to her wish, there was the sound of
hurried footsteps, and soon the form of Edward Devereaux appeared among
the trees.

"I crave thy pardon, Master Stafford," he cried, "if I have kept thee
waiting. Sir Christopher Hatton detained me, and I could not come sooner.
Draw and defend thyself."

He drew his own sword as he spoke and threw himself on guard. Without one
word of reply Francis placed herself on the defen