What unlucky chance it was I know not that impelled Comyn to essay again the trick by which he had come so near to spitting me; but try it he did, this time in prime and seconde.  I had come by nature to that intuition which a true swordsman must have, gleaned from the eyes of his adversary.  Long ago Captain Daniel had taught me the remedy for this coupe.  I parried, circled, and straightened, my body in swift motion and my point at Comyn’s heart, when Heaven brought me recollection in the space of a second.  My sword rang clattering on the floor.

His Lordship understood, but too late.  Despairing his life, he made one wild lunge at me that had never gone home had I held to my hilt.  But the rattle of the blade had scarce reached my ears when there came a sharp pain at my throat, and the room faded before me.  I heard the clock striking the half-hour.

I was blessed with a sturdy health such as few men enjoy, and came to myself sooner than had been looked for, with a dash of cold water.  And the first face I beheld was that of Colonel Washington.  I heard him speaking in a voice that was calm, yet urgent and commanding.

“I pray you, gentlemen, give back.  He is coming to, and must have air.  Fetch some linen!”

“Now God be praised!” I heard Captain Daniel cry.

With that his Lordship began to tear his own shirt into strips, and the captain bringing a bowl and napkin, the colonel himself washed the wound and bound it deftly, Singleton and Captain Daniel assisting.  When Mr. Washington had finished, he turned to Comyn, who stood, anxious and dishevelled, at my feet.

“You may be thankful that you missed the artery, my Lord,” he said.

“With all my heart, Colonel Washington!” cried his Lordship.  “I owe my life to his generosity.”

“What’s that, sir?”

Mr. Carvel dropped his sword, rather than run me through.”

“I’ll warrant!” Captain Daniel put in; “’Od’s heart!  The lad has skill to point the eye of a button.  I taught him myself.”

Colonel Washington stood up and laid his hand on the captain’s arm.

“He is Jack Carvel over again,” I heard him say, in a low voice.

I tried to struggle to my feet, to speak, but he restrained me.  And sending for his servants, he ordered them to have his baggage removed from the Roebuck, which was the best bed in the house.  At this moment the door opened, and Mr. Swain came in hurriedly.

“I pray you, gentlemen,” he cried, “and he is fit to be moved, you will let me take him to Marlboro’ Street.  I have a chariot at the door.”

CHAPTER XV

OF WHICH THE RECTOR HAS THE WORST