e, he saw the Sergeant approaching with a spade on his shoulder.

"What, Zebedee!" he called. The Sergeant glanced round, wheeled and,
halting before the arbour, stood at attention. "Ha, Zeb, good old Zeb,
come your ways. Sit down, yes, yes, here beside me. I'm beset by
devils, Zeb, devils damned of deepest blue, your honest phiz shall
fright 'em hence, mayhap--stay though!" The Viscount rose and drew his
sword: "That lunge o' yours in tierce, Zeb, 'tis a sweet stroke and
sufficiently deadly, show me the 'haviour on't. 'Twas somewhat on this
wise as I remember." And falling into a graceful fencing posture, the
Viscount made his long, narrow blade flash and dart viciously while
Sergeant Zebedee, taking himself by the chin, watched with the eye of a
connoisseur. "'Twas so, I think, Zeb?" The Sergeant smiled grimly and
shook his head.

"You've got same all mixed up wi' fashionable school-play, Master
Pancr--Tom, my lud, which though pretty ain't by no means the real
thing."

"How so, Zebedee?"

"Why sir, this here posturing and flourishing is well enough a-'twixt
fine gentlemen as happens to draw on each other after a bottle or to
wipe out an ill word in a drop or so o' blood--yes. But 'tis different
when you're opposite a skilled duellist as means to kill. His honour
the Major now, he learned in a hard school and his honour learned me."

"He's had several affairs I think, Zeb?"

"Twenty and two, sir!"

"Ha!" sighed the Viscount, "I've had one and got pricked in the thigh!
Here, show me the way on't, Sergeant." So saying, he turned weapon
across forearm and bowing in true academic manner, proffered the
jewelled hilt to the Sergeant who took it, tested spring and balance of
the blade with practised hands, saluted and fell to the "engage"; then
he lunged swiftly and recovered, all in a moment.

"'Tis a stroke hard to parry, sir!" said he.

"Gad love me!" sighed the Viscount, "do't again Zeb--slowly man and
with explanations."

"Why look'ee sir, 'tis a trick o' the wrist on the disengage. You are
in tierce--so, your point bearing so--very good! You play a thrust,
thus d'ye see, then--whip! up comes your point and you follow in with a
lunge--so! Try it, my lud."

"Hum!" said the Viscount, taking back his sword.

But having "tried it" once or twice with very indifferent success, he
shook his head and, sheathing his weapon, sat down again and grew more
despondent than ever. "Sit ye down, Zeb," said