The Parson was gaining on the Grenadier, and the Gentleman on the
Parson.
It was such a race as Kit had never seen before.
Which would reach his man first?
On that, it seemed to his prophetic vision, hung all.
He tried to yell,
"Come on, sir!"
But his voice stuck as in a nightmare, and seemed to suffocate him.
A blade soared and swooped.
"One!" came the Parson's voice, clear across the green, as he took the falling man in his stride.
The Gentleman, hard at his heels, tripped over the dead man.