At last, completely baffled, Roderic paused, drew back, and rested the point of his long sword upon the hard ground.

“To the death!” said Kenric solemnly, also lowering his 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 fought and vanquished.  God be thanked!  I feared that it had gone ill with you, for I found your cloak lying upon the heath.  Where is the villain Roderic?”

“Roderic is no more!” answered Kenric, taking his cloak from her hands.  “And now I go within the chapel to give thanks to God, in that He hath deigned to make me the instrument of His vengeance.”