ntagu, why came we here?"

"Yet even now if you will desist----"

His caustic insolent laugh rang out gaily as he mouthed the speech of
Tybalt in actor fashion.

"'What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagus, and thee;
Have at thee, coward.'"

I drew back from his playful lunge.

"Very well. Have it your own way. But you must have some one to act for
you. Perhaps Captain Mac--er--the gentleman on your right--will second
you."

Donald Roy drew himself up haughtily. "Feint a bit of it! I'm on the other
side of the dyke. Man, Montagu! I'm wondering at you, and him wronging a
Hieland lassie. Gin he waits till I stand back of him he'll go wantin', ye
may lippen (trust) to that."

"Then it'll have to be you, Tony," I said, turning to Creagh. "Guard, Sir
Robert!"

"'Sdeath! You're getting in a hurry, Mr. Montagu. I see you're keen after
that 'Hic Jacet' I promised you. Lard! I vow you shall have it."

Under the shifting moonlight we fell to work on the dripping heath. We
were not unevenly matched considering the time and the circumstances. I
had in my favour youth, an active life, and a wrist of steel. At least I
was a strong swordsman, even though I could not pretend to anything like
the mastery of the weapon which he possessed. To some extent his superior
skill was neutralized by the dim light. He had been used to win his fights
as much with his head as with his hand, to read his opponent's intention
in advance from the eyes while he concealed his own; but the darkness,
combined with my wooden face, made this impossible now. Every turn and
trick of the game he knew, but the shifting shine and shadow disconcerted
him. More than once I heard him curse softly when at a critical moment the
scudding clouds drifted across the moon in time to save me.

He had the better of me throughout, but somehow I blundered through
without letting him find the chance for which he looked. I kept my head,
and parried by sheer luck his brilliant lunges. I broke ground and won
free--if but barely--from his incessant attack. More than once he pricked
me. A high thrust which I diverted too late with the parade of tierce drew
blood freely. He fleshed me again on the riposte by a one-two feint in
tierce and a thrust in carte.

"'L'art de donner et de ne pas recevoir,'" he quoted, as he parried my
counter-thrust with debonair ease.

Try as I would I could not get behind th