couple of
footmen hurrying after him.

Meanwhile the combat went on. Once Lord Rotherby had attempted to fall
back for a respite, realizing that he was winded. But Mr. Caryll denied
him this, attacking now for the first time, and the rapidity of his play
was such that Rotherby opined--the end to be at hand, appreciated to the
full his peril. In a last desperate effort, gathering up what shreds
of strength remained him, he repulsed Mr. Caryll by a vigorous counter
attack. He saw an opening, feinted to enlarge it, and drove in quickly,
throwing his last ounce of strength into the effort. This time it could
not be said to have been parried. Something else happened. His blade,
coming foible on forte against Mr. Caryll's, was suddenly enveloped.
It was as if a tentacle had been thrust out to seize it. For the barest
fraction of a second was it held so by Mr. Caryll's sword; then, easily
but irresistibly, it was lifted out of Rotherby's hand, and dropped on
the turf a half-yard or so from his lordship's stockinged feet.

A cold sweat of terror broke upon him. He caught his breath with a
half-shuddering sob of fear, his eyes dilating wildly--for Mr. Caryll's
point was coming straight as an arrow at his throat. On it came and on,
until it was within perhaps three inches of the flesh.

There it was suddenly arrested, and for a long moment it was held there
poised, death itself, menacing and imminent. And Lord Rotherby, not
daring to move, rooted where he stood, looked with fascinated eyes along
that shimmering blade into two gleaming eyes behind it that seemed to
watch him with a solemnity that was grim to the point of mockery.

Time and the world stood still, or were annihilated in that moment for
the man who waited.

High in the blue overhead a lark was pouring out its song; but his
lordship heard it not. He heard nothing, he was conscious of nothing but
that gleaming sword and those gleaming eyes behind it.

Then a voice--the voice of his antagonist--broke the silence. "Is more
needed?" it asked, and without waiting for a reply, Mr. Caryll lowered
his blade and drew himself upright. "Let this suffice," he said. "To
take your life would be to deprive you of the means of profiting by this
lesson."

It seemed to Rotherby as if he were awaking from a trance. The world
resumed its way. He breathed again, and straightened himself, too, from
the arrested attitude of his last lunge. Rage welled up from his black
soul; a crims