"No!" he snarled, adding a horrid blasphemy. "'Twas passion in me once,
and I am none so sure there was not a time when you could have cooled it
into love. But now 'tis hatred and revenge." He snapped his fingers in
her face. "The thing they'll find here in the morning--"

He fell face downward at her feet and I set my heel in the small of his
back to hold him whilst I could drive the point of the Ferara between
his ribs. But my dear lady would not have it so.

"No, no! for the love of heaven, not that, Monsieur John!" she cried;
and for the moment her fine courage was all swallowed up of pity and she
became a compassionate woman pleading for a life.

But now my blood was up. "You are my wife," I said, coldly. "If he had a
dozen lives I should take them all for that which he said to you."

"But not that way--oh, not that way, I do beseech you!" she begged.
"Think of what it will mean to you--and--and to me. For your own sake,
Monsieur John."

I took my heel from the man's back.

"Your wish is law to me, dear lady. But your way is clear now; you may
go."

She took a step toward the door.

"You will not kill him when I am gone, Monsieur John?"

"By the name he bears he was doubtless born a gentlemen; since you wish
it, he shall die like one."

I saw she did not take my meaning; that when she was gone I should let
him have his chance to die sword in hand.

"Remember, I have your promise," she said, turning to go. "The army is
on the march for Salisbury, and in a little while your friends will be
here to--"

The sentence ended in a very womanly shriek of terror. Watching his
chance, my dastard enemy had bounded to his feet to make a quick lunge,
not at me, but at her.

Of course I came between to parry the murderous thrust, and after that
it was life for one of us and death for the other. I looked to see my
lady run, shrieking; indeed, I called to her to go; but she stood fast
as if her terror had frozen her; and so it was her candle that lighted
the grim vault for the duel.

As you will know full well, I was not minded to give this
thrice-accursed fiend more than the gentleman's chance I had promised to
give him. But now, as twice before, he fought most desperately, trying
by every trick of fence to come between me and the silent little figure
holding the candle aloft. As I have often said, he was a pretty
swordsman, and at this crisis, with life at stake, and all the fury of
the seven devils of disappoin