is weapon.

"Ay, to your death be it," returned Roderic, wiping the blood from his
wounded neck with his bare hand. Then again, breathing deeply, he took
his ground.

Clash, clash went their mighty swords once more as they closed together
in their deadly combat. And now Roderic threw back his weapon with a
great swing, and bent his strong body to bring the blade down with a
final swoop upon Kenric's head. He made a furious spring forward. His
sword flashed in a half-circle, whizzing through the air with frightful
speed. It was a blow that might have felled an ox.

But the ponderous weapon met nothing until, slipping from his blood-wet
hand, it fell with a crash upon the hard ground. At the same moment
Roderic uttered a groan. He staggered forward with his empty hands
outspread. He fell with a heavy thud upon his right shoulder, rolled
over, and then lay stretched upon the turf with the point of Kenric's
sword buried deep in his heart.

A deathly silence followed, broken only by the moaning of the sea waves
as they curled upon the beach. Kenric breathed a deep sigh. With
difficulty he drew his terrible weapon from the breast of his dead foe.
The Thirsty Sword had drunk its final draught.

Carrying the weapon away, Kenric stood for many moments upon the extreme
point of the jutting headland overlooking the open sea. Taking the Sword
in his two hands he swung it in a sweeping circle about his head, and
stepping forward flung it far out into the frosty air.

Away it sped like a well-aimed arrow. The moonbeams flashed upon the
bright blade as it turned in its descent, hilt downward, and plunged for
ever deep, deep into the sea.

Then Kenric stood awhile with clasped hands, looking far across to the
Arran fells, whose snowy mantles glanced like silver under the silent
moon. From the distance behind him he heard the faint tinkling of the
chapel bell, telling him that the old year, with its turmoil and
trouble, was at its end; and he dropped down upon his knees and covered
his face with his hands.

It was scarcely half an hour after midnight when Kenric walked towards
the arched doorway of St. Blane's chapel. As he drew near he saw the dim
light within, shining through the narrow windows of coloured glass, and
he heard the solemn murmur of prayer. He was about to enter when a hand
was suddenly laid upon his shoulder.

"'Tis you, my lord?" said the voice of Elspeth Blackfell. "Then it must
surely be that you have foug