He made a peculiar sound by sucking in his breath, meant for a sneering laugh.

“No,” says he, “damned if you shall!  I have nothing in common with you, sir.  So love for Miss Manners has driven you mad, my young upstart.  And he is not the first, Lewis.”

“Nor the last, by G—­,” says the captain.

“I have a score to settle with you, d—­n you!” cried Chartersea.

“That is why I am here, your Grace,” I replied; “only you have twisted the words.  There has been foul play enough.  I have come to tell you,” I cried, boiling with anger, “I have come to tell you there has been foul play enough with a weakling that cannot protect himself, and to put an end to your blackmail.”

In the place of an oath, a hoarse laugh of derision came out of him.  But I was too angry then to note its significance.  I slapped his face—­nay, boxed it so that my palm stung.  I heard his sword scraping out of the scabbard, and drew mine, stepping back to distance at the same instant.  Then, with something of a shudder, I remembered young Atwater, and a 380 brace of other instances of his villany.  I looked for the captain.  He was gone.

Our blades, the duke’s and mine, came together with a ring, and I felt the strength of his wrist behind his, and of his short, powerful arm.  The steel sung with our quick changes from ‘quarte’ to ‘tierce’.  ’Twas all by the feeling, without light to go by, and hatred between us left little space for skill.  Our lunges were furious.  ’Twas not long before I felt his point at my chest, but his reach was scant.  All at once the music swelled up voices and laughter were wafted faintly from the pleasure world of lights beyond.  But my head was filled, to the exclusion of all else, with a hatred and fury.  And (God forgive me!) from between my teeth came a prayer that if I might kill this monster, I would die willingly.

Suddenly, as I pressed him, he shifted ground, and there was Lewis standing within range of my eye.  His hands were nowhere—­they were behind his back!  God alone knows why he had not murdered me.  To keep Chartersea between him and me I swung another quarter.  The duke seemed to see my game, struggled against it, tried to rush in under my guard, made a vicious lunge that would have ended me then and there had he not slipped.  We were both panting like wild beasts.  When next I raised my eyes Lewis had faded into the darkness.  Then I felt my head as wet as from a plunge, the water running on my brow, and my back twitching.  Every second I thought the sting of his sword was between my ribs.  But to forsake the duke would have been the maddest of follies.

In that moment of agony came footsteps beating on the path, and by tacit consent our swords were still.  We listened.

“Richard!  Richard Carvel!”

For the second time in my life I thanked Heaven for that brave and loyal English heart.  I called back, but my throat was dry and choked.