“An’ I tell ’ee,” broke in the smith, his repression giving way before a fury as fierce as it was sudden, “I tell ’ee—­you be a liar, an’ a coward—­I know, I know—­I’ve heerd an’ I’ve seen —­your lyin’, coward’s tongue sha’n’t save ‘ee—­oh, ecod! wi’ your white face an’ tremblin’ ’ands—­you be a shame to the woman as loves ye, an’ the woman as bore ye!—­stand up, I say, or by God!  I’ll do for ’ee!” and he raised his weapon.

Without another word I picked up the cudgel, and, pointing to a gate a little farther along the road, I led the way into the meadow beyond.  On the other side of this meadow ran the lane I have mentioned before, and beyond the lane was the Hollow, and glancing thitherward, I bethought me that supper would be ready, and Charmian waiting for me, just about now, and I sighed, I remember, as I drew off my coat, and laid it, together with my hat, under the hedge.

The moon was beginning to rise, casting the magic of her pale loveliness upon the world, and, as I rolled up my sleeves, I glanced round about me with an eye that strove to take in the beauty of all things—­of hedge and tree and winding road, the gloom of wood, the sheen of water, and the far, soft sweep of hill and dale.  Over all these my glance lingered yearningly, for it seemed to me that this look might be my last.  And now, as I stooped and gripped my weapon, I remembered how I had, that morning, kissed her fingers, and I was strangely comforted and glad.

The night air, which had been warm heretofore, struck chilly now, and, as I stood up fronting Black George, I shivered, seeing which he laughed, short and fierce, and, with the laugh, came at me, striking downwards at my head as he came, and tough wood met tough wood with a shock that jarred me from wrist to shoulder.

To hit him upon the arm, and disable him, was my one thought and object.  I therefore watched for an opening, parrying his swift strokes and avoiding his rushes as well as I might.  Time and again our weapons crashed together, now above my head, now to right, or left, sometimes rattling in quick succession, sometimes with pauses between strokes, pauses filled in with the sound of heavy breathing and the ceaseless thud of feet upon the sward.  I was already bruised in half-a-dozen places, my right hand and arm felt numb, and with a shooting pain in the shoulder, that grew more acute with every movement; my breath also was beginning to labor.  Yet still Black George pressed on, untiring, relentless, showering blow on blow, while my arm grew ever weaker and weaker, and the pain in my shoulder throbbed more intensely.