withstanding the briskness of the
morning air.

Then Tom began to understand where Lord Claud's advantage lay. If
he could tire out his adversary by keeping on the defensive, then
at the last he might get his chance, and lunge at him when he would
scarce be able to parry the thrust.

It was easy to see that his weak point was slowness of recovery.
His thrusts were quick and well planted, he had an excellent guard
and mastery of the weapon; but he was slow in recovering after
making a lunge, and the longer the fight continued the more evident
did this defect become. And it was plain that he was aware of it,
for though he pressed upon his antagonist with great determination
and with much dexterity of sword play, he was afraid to take
advantage of his longer reach and lunge at him boldly; for he knew
that if Lord Claud avoided the thrust, he would almost certainly
have at him with a counter lunge before he had time to parry.

And, in fact, that was what did at the last happen, after the fight
had lasted so long that Tom thought half an hour must surely have
gone by. Both antagonists showed signs of weariness. It had even
been suggested that enough had been done to satisfy the claims of
honour; but to that suggestion neither principal would listen.

Sir James was much distressed. Sweat poured from his brow, his
breath came in deep gasps, his face was growing purple. Lord Claud
looked white, but otherwise had not changed in aspect, and the
deadly battle light in his eyes was growing brighter and keener.

His heavy antagonist now saw that nothing could serve his purpose
but an exercise of sheer weight and brute force, and he pressed on
and on with such fury that Tom almost cried aloud in his fear. But
Lord Claud was wary and watchful; he gave way for a while, only
parrying the thrusts, and that with not so much force as before;
then suddenly Sir James made a furious lunge, and calling out in a
strangled voice, "Have at you now!" he all but buried his rapier in
his adversary's body.

All but--yet not quite; for just at the moment when it seemed
impossible to parry the furious stroke, Lord Claud made a curious
upward twist of the wrist, caught his adversary's blade and turned
it so that it glanced aside and passed him, whilst he sprang
towards him at the same instant, and saying quite coolly, "Sir,
methinks your physician would recommend blood letting in your
heated condition," he thrust straight and true at his burly