Mr. Claude was called in and, as is the custom in such cases, was told that some of us would play awhile above.  He was asked for his private room.  The good man had his suspicions, but could not refuse a party of such distinction, and sent a drawer thither with wine and cards.  Presently we followed, leaving the pack of toadies in sad disappointment below.

We gathered about the table and made shift at loo until the fellow had retired, when the seconds proceeded to clear the room of furniture, and Lord Comyn and I stripped off our coats and waistcoats.  I had lost my anger, but felt no fear, only a kind of pity that blood should be shed between two so united in spirit as we.  Yes, my dears, I thought of Dorothy.  If I died, she would hear that it was like a man—­like a Carvel.  But the thought of my old grandfather tightened my heart.  Then the clock on the inn stairs struck two, and the noise of harsh laughter floated up to us from below.

And Comyn,—­of what was he thinking?  Of some fair home set upon the downs across the sea, of some heroic English mother who had kept her tears until he was gone?  Her image rose in dumb entreaty, invoked by the lad before me.  What a picture was he in his spotless shirt with the ruffles, his handsome boyish face all that was good and honest!

I had scarce felt his Lordship’s wrist than I knew I had to deal with a pupil of Angelo.  At first his attacks were all simple, without feint or trickery, as were mine.  Collinson cursed and cried out that it was buffoonery, and called on my Lord not to let me off so easily; swore that I fenced like a mercer, that he could have stuck me like a pin-cushion twenty and twenty times.  Often have I seen two animals thrust into a pit with nothing but good-will between them, and those without force them into anger and a deadly battle.  And so it was, unconsciously, between Comyn and me.  I forgot presently that I was not dealing with Captain Collinson, and my feelings went into my sword.  Comyn began to press me, nor did I give back.  And then, before it came over me that we had to do with life and death, he was upon me with a volte coupe, feinting in high carte and thrusting in low tierce, his point passing through a fold in my shirt.  And I were not alive to write these words had I not leaped out of his measure.

“Bravo, Richard!” cried Fotheringay.

“Well made, gads life!” from Mr. Furness.

We engaged again, our faces hot.  Now I knew that if I did not carry the matter against him I should be killed out of hand, and Heaven knows I was not used to play a passive part.  I began to go carefully, but fiercely; tried one attack after another that my grandfather and Captain Daniel had taught me,—­flanconnades, beats, and lunges.  Comyn held me even, and in truth I had much to do to defend myself.  Once I thought I had him in the sword-arm, after a circular parry, but he was too quick for me.  We were sweating freely by now, and by reason of the buzzing in my ears I could scarce hear the applause of the seconds.