shaken that of Mallow. Mallow's hand had a clammy
touch--clammy, but firm and sure. There was no tremor in the long, thin
fingers nor at the lips--the thin, ascetic lips, as of a secret-service
man--but in his eyes was a dark fire of purpose. The morning had touched
him, but not as it had thrown over Dyck its mantle of peace. Mallow
also had enjoyed the smell and feeling of it all, but with this
difference--it had filled him with such material joy that he could not
bear the thought of leaving it. It gave him strength of will, which
would add security to his arm and wrist. Yet, as he looked at Dyck, he
saw that his work was cut out for him; for in all his days he had never
seen a man so well-possessed, so surely in hand.

Dyck had learned swordsmanship with as skilled a master as Ireland had
known, and he had shown, in getting knowledge of the weapon, a natural
instinct and a capacity worthy of the highest purpose. He had handled
the sword since he was six, and his play was better than that of most
men; but this was, in fact, his first real duel. In the troubled state
of Ireland, with internal discord, challenge, and attack, he had more
than once fought, and with success; but that was in the rough-and-tumble
of life's chances, as it were, with no deliberate plan to fight
according to the rules. Many times, of course, in the process of
his training, he had fought as men fight in duels, but with this
difference--that now he was permitted to disable or kill his foe.

It was clear that one or the other would not leave this ground--this
verdant, beautiful piece of mother earth--exactly as he entered it. He
would leave it wounded, incapable, or dead. Indeed, both might leave
it wounded, and the chances of success were with the older man, Mallow,
whose experience would give him an advantage.

Physically, there was not a vast deal to choose between the two men.
Mallow was lank and tall, nervously self-contained, finely concentrated,
and vigorous. Dyck was broad of shoulder, well set up, muscular, and
with a steadier eye than that of his foe. Also, as the combat developed,
it was clear that he had a hand as steady as his eye. What was more, his
wrist had superb strength and flexibility; it was as enduring and vital
as the forefoot and ankle of a tiger. As a pair they were certainly
notable, and would give a good account of themselves.

No one of temperament who observed the scene could ever forget it. The
light was perfect--ev