enly distributed, clear enough to permit accuracy
of distance in a stroke. The air was still, gently bracing, and, like
most Irish air, adorably sweet.

The spot chosen for the fight was a sort of avenue between great trees,
whose broad leaves warded off the direct sun, and whose shade had as
yet no black shadows. The turf was as elastic to the foot as a firm
mattress. In the trees, birds were singing with liveliness; in the
distance, horned cattle browsed, and a pair of horses stood gazing at
the combatants, startled, no doubt, by this invasion of their pasturage.
From the distance came the faint, mellow booming of church-bells.

The two men fighting had almost the air of gladiators. Their coats were
off, and the white linen of their shirts looked gracious; while the
upraised left hand of the fighters balancing the sword-thrust and the
weight of the body had an almost singular beauty. Of the two, Dyck was
the more graceful, the steadier, the quicker in his motions.

Vigilant Dyck was, but not reckless. He had made the first attack, on
the ground that the aggressor gains by boldness, if that boldness is
joined to skill; and Dyck's skill was of the best. His heart was warm.
His momentary vision of Sheila Llyn remained with him--not as a vision,
rather as a warmth in his inmost being, something which made him
intensely alert, cheerful, defiant, exactly skilful.

He had need of all his skill, for Mallow was set to win the fight. He
felt instinctively what was working in Dyck's mind. He had fought a
number of duels, and with a certain trick or art he had given the end
to the lives of several. He became conscious, however, that Dyck had a
particular stroke in mind, which he himself was preventing by masterful
methods. It might be one thing or another, but in view of Dyck's
training it would perhaps be the Enniscorthy touch.

Again and again Dyck pressed his antagonist backward, seeking to muddle
his defence and to clear an opening for his own deadly stroke; but the
other man also was a master, and parried successfully.

Presently, with a quick move, Mallow took the offensive, and tried to
unsettle Dyck's poise and disorganize his battle-plan. For an instant
the tempestuous action, the brilliant, swift play of the sword,
the quivering flippancy of the steel, gave Dyck that which almost
disconcerted him. Yet he had a grip of himself, and preserved his
defence intact; though once his enemy's steel caught his left shoulder,