at wonderful guard of his. It was
easy, graceful, careless almost, but it was sure. His point was a gleaming
flash of light, but it never wavered from my body line.

A darker cloud obscured the moon, and by common consent we rested.

"Three minutes for good-byes," said Volney, suggestively.

"Oh, my friends need not order the hearse yet--at least for me. Of course,
if it would be any convenience----"

He laughed. "Faith, you improve on acquaintance, Mr. Montagu, like good
wine or--to stick to the same colour--the taste of the lady's lips."

I looked blackly at him. "Do you pretend----?"

"Oh, I pretend nothing. Kiss and never tell, egad! Too bad they're not for
you too, Montagu."

"I see that Sir Robert Volney has added another accomplishment to his
vices."

"And that is----?"

"He can couple a woman's name with the hint of a slanderous lie."

Sir Robert turned to Creagh and waved a hand at me, shaking his head
sorrowfully. "The country boor in evidence again. Curious how it will crop
out. Ah, Mr. Montagu! The moon shines bright again. Shall we have the
pleasure of renewing our little debate?"

I nodded curtly. He stopped a moment to say:

"You have a strong wrist and a prodigious good fence, Mr. Montagu, but if
you will pardon a word of criticism I think your guard too high."

"Y'are not here to instruct me, Sir Robert, but----"

"To kill you. Quite so!" he interrupted jauntily. "Still, a friendly word
of caution--and the guard _is_ overhigh! 'Tis the same fault my third had.
I ran under it, and----" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Was that the boy you killed for defending his sister?" I asked
insolently.

Apparently my hit did not pierce the skin. "No. I've forgot the nomination
of the gentleman. What matter? He has long been food for worms. Pardon me,
I see blood trickling down your sword arm. Allow me to offer my
kerchief."

"Thanks! 'Twill do as it is. Art ready?"

"Lard, yes! And guard lower, an you love me. The high guard is the one
fault-- Well parried, Montagu!--I find in Angelo's pupils. Correcting
that, you would have made a rare swordsman in time."

His use of the subjunctive did not escape me. "I'm not dead yet," I
panted.

I parried a feint une-deux, in carte, with the parade in semicircle, and
he came over my blade, thrusting low in carte. His laugh rang out clear as
a boy's, and the great eyes of the man blazed with the joy of fight.

"Gad, you're quick to take my meaning! Ah! You