"Pardon me," he said, slowly, without removing his eyes from Blair's face. "It is a mere scratch, and will not serve as an excuse, even for Lord Ferrers!"
There was so deadly an insult in the tone as well as the words, that Blair's face flamed, and his fingers closed over his hilt.
"When his highness is rested, I am ready to resume," he said, quietly.
The seconds drew back reluctantly.
"Now he will kill him," muttered the general. "Mark my words! At the next thrust Rivani will run him through."
Cautiously, and yet with deadly intentions, the prince resumed the attack. The shining blades gleamed in the pale morning light, and hissed like snakes as they seemed to cling together; Blair put all the science he knew into it, but he felt that the moment would come when the sharp steel, that seemed like something human—or rather diabolical—in its persistence, would slip past his guard and finish the chapter for him; and presently he felt as if a hot iron had pierced his left shoulder; it was followed by the sensation of something warm trickling down his side, and he knew that he was wounded.
The two seconds sprung forward, but it was Blair who waved them back.
"Nothing, nothing!" he said. "Do not interfere, please!"
It would have been dangerous to have persisted in any attempt to stop the men, for the swords were flashing and writhing furiously; the prince was losing his calm; if it went altogether, it would leave him at Blair's mercy.
"By Heaven, it is my man who will be killed!" said the general, with an oath. "What possesses him? Look! he will be in the earl's power directly. Ah!—--"