my legs and arms were stiff from long sitting, and with the cold. when i was out on the sands, away from lucille, i ran up and down the beach to start my blood. i beat my arms about my body to limber them, and rubbed my hands and wrists. then when i was glowing from the exercise, i dashed the sea water over my face and neck until i tingled all over. on i hurried now to the place of meeting. i could see sir george walking slowly along the beach, and i marked that simon was left behind, near to where they had kindled their watch-fire the night before. as i went along i looked out on the sea, which had turned to a rosy golden color under the rays of the sun. the waves glistened and sparkled before they broke in foam and bubbles on the shelving beach, hissing as they rushed up the incline, and then, chasing each other back into the ocean again, they dragged with them bits of sea weed, little stones and tiny pieces of tinted shells. i walked just on the edge of the wet sand, for it was easier going there, being firm from the beating of the waves, and i saw that sir george coming toward me did likewise.

241now i had fought many duels, but never such a deliberately planned one as this was. usually it was when my blood and that of my companion was hot. it was a blow, a curse, a rush to a secluded spot where we could indulge in a bit of sword play and not be interrupted, and in a little while a body with a sword thrust, lying on the sward. the slayer being hurried off to a wine house with his friends. at most times, too, there had been seconds, and a few onlookers, though, when occasion forbade them, we made shift to do without.

there was the time i had met de gloise, back of the chapel that stands on the left of the road, as you leave the northern road from paris. we had no attendants then, but were able to accomplish some pretty sword strokes. he gave me a thrust in the shoulder, while, by some chance, my weapon went into his throat, and he never sang any more of those funny french songs.

and there was gandes, who was accounted an excellent blade. he and i had it out, early one morning. ’twas about whether he or i could drink the most red wine, if i recall the cause of the quarrel, for i was rather wild those days.

neither of us was sober enough to do more than a slouchy bit of work with the weapons, for we had spent the night together at the owl and peacock, before we quarreled, as to which was the wiser bird of the twain painted above the inn door. we went out into the yard, where only the stable boys were rubbing their sleepy eyes, 242and crossed swords. poor gandes. i thrust him through the body, though, sober, i would not have harmed him so much, as he was my best friend. he gave me a hasty cut in the side which made me stiff for many a day.

then there was the time when i trod on a stranger’s toes, in munich, he being, at the time, about to call on a lady. he called me a clumsy lout, and i replied with hot words. so we had it out there in the moonlight, behind a church. he was a most delightful man with a sword, and it was a real honor to engage him, for he had several passes that quite puzzled me for a time. but i managed to reach under his guard, and give him a wound in the arm pit, which must have prevented him from holding a blade for some time. on his side, he came near to catching me unawares, and, the result was a lunge, that, had it been six inches lower, must have ended my fighting days. as it was, i bear the scar on my left cheek yet.

thus i mused as i walked along to meet sir george. i knew this would be no boys’ affair, and i resolved to attempt none of those niceties of the fence, of which i am capable. for i was not in the mind to take chances on my life now, since it had become precious to me from yester eve, when i found my love again. i would let slip no chance, though, to kill my foe, as only his death could wipe out the insult to lucille.

we had now come so near that we could greet each other. i saluted with my sword, and sir george returned 243the compliment gravely. the next instant we were both looking over the ground, whereon we were to engage.

the place we had selected the night before, was on a sort of sandy knoll, and the height of it above the surrounding beach prevented the waves from washing up on it, save when the tide was full. the ground there seemed to be dry and rather shifting, offering no secure foot-hold.

“it is a little better in this direction,” said sir george, indicating a shallow hollow place in the sand behind him.

i agreed with him, for there the waters of the tides had washed up on the sand, packing it firmly down.

this place, however, lay a little farther toward the sea, and made it necessary for us, if we would fight there, to stand, at times, with our ankles in the wet. it seemed to be the nearest place that suited, and was, in truth, a choice spot for a bit of sword play.

we threw off our upper garments. our weapons were out of the scabbards as one, and we advanced until we stood facing each other. sir george turned his gaze for an instant toward the rising sun on his left. then he looked me in the eyes.

“guard,” he said, quickly.

“on guard,” said i.

our swords crossed a second later, and the battle between us was on.

for the first time i noticed how pale sir george was. there were dark rings under his eyes, and his face bore 244marks of his passion and his recent sufferings, physical and mental. but it was no time for such observations as these. his steel clicked viciously on mine, and i knew, by the pressure and the way he lunged, that he was trying to make short work of it.

the clash of our blades, both good ones, mingled with the roar of the surf. it was thrust and parry, parry and thrust, the keen pointed weapons gliding along their lengths like serpents. we circled about one another, each watching, with jealous eyes, for a false move, a misstep. three times did he thrust at my heart, thinking to catch me off guard, but, each time, my blade was there before his, and the sword slipped off with a hiss as of hot iron.

i tried many a stroke and thrust that i had found of service heretofore, but ever did i find his wrist ready, and he turned aside my point once when i could have sworn that i would have ended it. he laughed at me.

he thrust at my throat, and, when i would have parried it, he shifted his point, on a sudden, toward my heart. it was an old trick, and i knew how to meet it. when i had turned his blade away by a simple shift of my weapon, i laughed back at him, and responded with so quick a lunge that i pricked him in the shoulder, thus getting the honor of first blood. and i laughed again, as he frowned.

but mortal arms and wrists could not stand the strain much longer, and we were both panting, while the sweat 245stood in beads on our brows. through it all our eyes never for an instant left each other’s gaze.

again and again i thrust, until i had his wrist weary turning them aside. ever i sought to reach one spot, not that i hoped to wound him there, but i had a trick i wished to work. his lips opened, that he might breathe more freely, and i saw his chin quiver, while a drop of sweat, that had come out on his forehead, rolled down on his cheek. i knew the tide was on the point of turning now, and the struggle that had been an even one, was a jot in my favor. i had forced him to the defensive.

he saw the gleam of triumph in my eye, and, as if to assure me and himself that he was as fresh as ever, he smiled and tossed back his head.

we had circled about each other so often, neither giving a step, that there was a little ridge of sand made by our feet, enclosing a spot that bore no mark. slowly, so slowly that to an onlooker it could not have been said when it happened, sir george began to step back. it was but a slight shifting of the feet, a settling of the body on the right leg that did it, until, when another minute or two had passed he was without the ring, and i stood in the centre.

the one sweat drop had been followed by others, and he was breathing with an effort. his face became paler, nor was his sword as quick to respond to the parry. i pressed him hard, with the result that i touched him in the arm 246twice. i felt, rather than saw, that i had him now at an advantage.

ha! another inch and i would have ended it then. but i had not given him credit for the knowledge of that trick. he met my lunge, and turned it off to such account that he nipped me in the neck; only a slight wound, however. the sight of my blood seemed to enrage him, for he came at me fiercely, and i was forced for a moment to adopt a defense.

then, slowly but surely, i made him give ground again. i could see the fear and dread come into his eyes, as i had seen it in other eyes before.

“how long is it to last?” he muttered, foolishly using his breath in words. yet, in his agony, and it was agony when he saw death in front of him, he smiled. and it seemed like the same smile i had seen, when he stood urging on the men, as i was beneath the great press.

i did not answer, but pushed my sword point more and more near to his heart. twice i tried to reach over his guard, but each time he had been too quick for me, and my thrusts went high in the air. as i recovered my balance a curious thing happened.

a wave, bigger than any that had come before, broke upon the beach and rushed toward us in a mass of foam and water. in an instant we were lunging at one another knee deep in the sea. as the water flowed down the incline again it swept the sand from beneath our feet, and we had hard work to stand upright. but even that did 247not stop him from making a fierce thrust at my throat so that i had to be on the alert to force his point away.

the next instant came a woman’s scream. we both turned, forgetting for the time that our very lives depended on the watch we kept of the other.

lucille was on the beach, running toward us!

my heart gave a throb, and i half turned myself about. the next moment i realized my folly, and was facing my enemy again. but that one moment was almost too long.

i had without thinking lowered the point of my weapon and given sir george the very opening he wanted.

like a snake his steel slipped half its length over mine, and the point was toward my heart. for the life of me i could not help the gasp that my breath gave. in my desperation i tried a parry that de sceaul had once taught me. i dared not hope it would be effective, for i was too late with it.

his sword drew sparks from mine as it rasped along the length; the point was before my eyes.

with a last fearful lunge toward him i managed to force his weapon up, with my own pointing heavenward, and only just in time, for the point tore a furrow through the skin of my forehead.

and then there was a sudden snap, and a sound of ringing steel. i saw in the hand of sir george only the hilt of his sword. in his eyes was a look of wonder, and his head was thrown back, in the effort to see what had become of his blade.

248next, ere either of us had time to move, the broken sword, whole from the point to where it joined the hilt, and which had been tossed high in the air by the force of my upward parry, and the spring of the broken steel, came down like an indian arrow, point first.

and it struck him in the throat, just where there is the hollow, scooped-out place, in the breast bone. it went in nigh a foot, and stuck up, a fearful thing to behold, while, for half the length that protruded the spurting blood dyed it red.

sir george stood for an instant without a movement. then he began swaying and struggling not to fall, as does a tree, part cut through. he tried to speak, through the blood that rushed to his lips. then he staggered, and came down on his knees.

he was close to death, and, strange chance, not so much by my hand as by his own. for a second i stood and looked at him, while he endeavored to regain his feet, but he only pitched forward, and lay prone upon the sand, crimson with his blood.

at the same moment a wave came up, covering him from sight, and nearly washing me from where i was. lucille, with a cry of horror at what she had seen, ran toward us. as the water receded it undermined the sand where i stood, so that i was hard put to retain my place. then i saw that sir george was like to be carried out to sea. he dug his hands frantically into the yielding 249beach, but his nails only tore deep furrows in the earth. his eyes sought mine.

i would not let a dog thus die. so i leaped out after him, catching him about the waist, and, after a struggle against the action of the undertow, that seemed bound to get us both, i managed to half drag, half carry him up the slope, out of reach of the water.

then, as i stooped over, and drew the sword blade from his throat, to have a rush of blood follow, i looked up, and there stood lucille.

“are you wounded, edward?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“only a scratch,” i replied.

“and--and--sir george?” she faltered.

“’tis a grievous hurt,” i said, and with that sir george, whose eyes had been closed, since i carried him out of the water, opened them.

“you have won,” he said, quietly, and he turned so that he might not look at either lucille or me.

“oh, edward, edward,” sobbed lucille. then i led her away.

simon, who had been absent all this time, came racing up the sandy stretch now. he cast himself down beside the body of his master, caressing him, and kissing his cold face.

“water,” gasped sir george.

before simon could rise i ran to the spring near the rock and hurried back with my cap full of the liquid. as 250i neared the place where the dying man lay, i saw something white, like a piece of parchment, in simon’s hand, and the sailor hurriedly thrust it into his pocket.

sir george drank eagerly, and simon and i bathed his face.

the sun was fully up now, flooding us all in the golden light. the tide came farther on the sands, the gulls flitted out over the waves, and, in the woods back of us the birds were singing. it hardly seemed as if a few minutes ago that two men were battling there for each other’s lives, and that now one was dying.

i walked slowly away, as i thought sir george might not like me near him in his last moments. but he raised his hand, and beckoned to me to approach. when i had leaned over him, for he could only whisper, i heard him say, between his gasps:

“well--i have lost--but the stake--the stake was worth playing for. had i my life to live over again, the chance to--to once more live and love--and--fight, i would not change one jot. i had deep laid plans, yet they failed. you were in my path, and, when i thought i had made an end for you--you came back to torment me, to rob me of my love.”

“not to rob you,” i protested. “it was a fair fight, and she had a right to choose. ’twas you who sought to rob me.”

“well, it is all over now,” he rejoined. “we have been good foes, and you were a brave man. i honor you for it.”

251“nay, as for the honor of the sword, ’tis yours as much as mine,” i said. “better blade have i never met, and i have crossed with many.”

he smiled, a little smile of contempt. a man who is done with this world can afford to laugh at the power of steel.

“let it pass,” he continued, speaking with greater ease now that he was near the end. “let it pass. and now seeing that i have not much longer in the land, truly a most pleasant land, in spite of all that is said against it, dare i make bold to ask a favor?”

“i will serve you, if i may,” i answered.

“oh, it is only a small matter,” he rejoined. “’tis this. when i am laid--laid away, let simon accompany you to elizabeth town. he has a mission for me there that i will not be able to accomplish.

“oh, my god!” he exclaimed suddenly, and his face told of the suffering he felt.

i started to raise him up, that he might rest more easily.

“it is nothing,” he said. “dying is a little harder than i thought,” and he actually smiled at me.

“might i speak to--to her?” he asked, as a child would plead.

i started after lucille, and found her weeping behind the knoll where we had appointed to fight.

“come,” was all i said.

she followed me without a word, and, when we neared 252the place where sir george was dying, i would have hung back, letting her go to him alone.

however, he motioned me to approach with her, and so it was that we stood, lucille and simon and i, at his side.

“madame,” he said, “will you forgive me for all i have done? for the trick i played on you?”

“yes, my lord,” answered lucille. “though it was a grievous wrong, yet, since you are near to death i do forgive you, freely and fully.”

“i thank you,” he said, simply.

“and you, sir?” looking at me.

“i, too, can afford to forgive and forget,” i replied, as i took lucille’s hand.

“it is enough,” were his next words. then a tremor seemed to pass over him. i turned lucille away that she might not see the end.

“good bye--lucille,” whispered, rather than spoke, sir george.

“good bye, my lord,” came falteringly from lucille’s lips, and she burst into tears, with her head on my shoulder. i led her away.

when i turned to look at him i saw that the end was come. he had turned over on his face, and his head was resting on his folded arms, while a choking sob shook his body. he was weeping in death, this man who had dared so much for love, and lost.

simon, who had knelt down by his master, leaned over 253him. he appeared to be listening. then he arose, raised his hands to heaven and gave a great cry.

thus died sir george keith, a brave man, a bold man, and--well, he is dead. may he rest in peace.

and we covered him up with the sand, simon and i; with the sand whereon he had fought his last fight.

i was anxious, now, to be away from the place, and to get lucille to some shelter. we lighted a fire, and roasted some of the bacon, making a scanty meal, and, ere the sun was mid-day high, we were ready to start.

“come,” i said, cheerfully, “our path lies before us, and if we hasten we may reach elizabeth town by night.”

“any place away from this,” sighed lucille. “i shall have unpleasant memories of it for many a day.”

we managed to scramble to the top of the cliff, and found the place where kit was tethered. the mare was most glad to see me, and whinnied with delight, as i rubbed her nose. my saddle made a poor shift for lucille, but i padded it with my coat, making the best seat i could. then, with a last look at the beach, whereon so much had passed, i called to kit, simon and i stepped out, and we laid our course to the southwest.

the way was rough and soon we had left the wood and were traveling over a marsh that required us to be careful where we stepped. our progress was slow, but i hoped, if we could not reach elizabeth, that we could get to a farm house, where we might spend the night. simon walked 254on ahead, while i kept at lucille’s side. we found much to talk of, for love furnishes many topics.

the sun went lower in the west, yet we had not come upon sight of a dwelling. it was lonesome and dreary enough, and lucille looked at me once or twice, with fear in her eyes.

“we will soon be there,” i said, though i did not believe so, for i feared we had mistaken the road.

as it grew dusk we came to the edge of the marsh and entered the woods again. still there was no sign of house or hut. i gave up then, convinced that we were off the trail, and must spend another night in the open. it was not a pleasant prospect, but there was no help for it.

there was a sound in the underbrush, and a trapper came out. i was right glad to see him. after a little conversation i asked him the way to elizabeth town, and he told me that we had come past it, that it was nearly a day’s journey to the northwest. i had circled around it in my wandering, and sir george had sailed past it. truly it was strange that we should have ever met.

“well,” i said as happily as i could, when the trapper had crashed away, “we must do the best we can. it is only one day lost.”

i found a place where four trees grew together almost in the form of a square. simon and i cut down cedar boughs, and made a rude roof between the trunks. then we enclosed the sides, spread more branches and leaves 255on the ground, and had a forest bower, full of many cracks and chinks, but some shelter from the wind and dew.

simon lighted a fire with my tinder box, and we cooked almost our last piece of bacon. we finished the meal in silence. i wrapped lucille in my coat when she went inside the shelter we had made. she called a good-night to both of us.

then simon and i sat down beside the glowing embers for another night watch. we did not speak. the woods were deeply quiet, save for the hoot of an owl or the howl of a wolf.