"This sword belongs to someone," I said picking up the weapon. As I examined it I thought I could see through the blood that covered it that its blade bore an inscription. To ascertain the fact, I wiped it with some leaves. While I was engaged at this Marion cried in agony:
"Will you leave that sword alone! Quit rubbing upon the blade! Oh! My strength fails me, or I would rise and snatch the weapon from your hands. A curse upon you, who have come to disturb my last moments! Oh! It must be the devil who sent you!"
"It is the gods who sent me!" I cried struck almost dumb with horror. "It is Hesus who sent me for the punishment of the most horrible of crimes! A friend slay his friend!"
"You lie! You lie!"
"It is Eustace who dealt you the wound!"
"You lie! Oh! Why am I sinking so fast—I would smother those words in your cursed throat!"
"You were struck by this sword, the gift of your friendship to an infamous murderer—"
"It is false!"
"'Marion forged this sword for his dear friend Eustace'—that is the sentence engraved upon this blade," I replied to him pointing with my finger at the inscription graven in the steel. "This is the sword that you forged yourself."
"The inscription proves nothing," observed Marion in great anguish. "The man who struck me stole the sword from my friend Eustace—that's all."