“Well, you shall attack. But had I better get some buttoned swords? I shouldn’t like to hurt you, sir.”
“I’ll take care you do not,” said the doctor quietly; “and there will be no need, for I will not hurt you.”
The lad coloured slightly as the thought flashed through him that he should like to humble the other’s confidence and pride. The next moment he was looking on, half astonished, as his adversary slipped off his long robe-like gown and stood before him in his tight doublet and hose, upright, keen, and active as a man of half his years, ready to fall into position the next moment and challenge him to come on.
The lad required no second invitation, for, calling up all he knew of fencing, he crossed swords and attacked vigorously, with the sensation the next moment that he had received a sharp jerk of the wrist as his rapier described a curve in the air and the doctor leaped up, making a snatch with his left hand, and catching it by the middle of the blade as it fell, to hold it to its owner with a smile.
“Bad,” he said. “Don’t let me do that again.”
“You can’t,” cried the lad defiantly, as, tingling with annoyance, he attacked once more, to feel his adversary’s blade seem as if endowed with snake-like vitality, and twine round his own, which then twitched and fell with a sharp jingle upon the oaken boards.
“Oh,” cried the lad impatiently, “I can’t fence a bit! But tell me, doctor; is there any— no, absurd—stuff! I don’t believe in magic. I’d give anything, though, if you would teach me how to do that.”
“You must learn to fence first, my boy, and work hard. I did not learn to do that in one lesson. Now attack again, and keep a good grip of your hilt. There, come on.”
“No, not now, sir,” said the boy huskily. “This has made me hot and angry, and one ought to be cool when handling pointed weapons. I shouldn’t like to hurt you, sir.”
“Neither should I, my lad,” said the doctor calmly; “but you need not fear doing that. Come on, I tell you. There, I’m not speaking boastingly, Denis, my lad. I am no master of fence, but I can do precisely what I please with your weapon, disarm you at every encounter, or turn your point whichever way I choose. There: you see.” For nettled by his words, and in a futile effort to prove that they were untrue, the lad attacked sharply once again, made about a dozen passes, to find himself perfectly helpless in his adversary’s hands, and at last stopped short, lowered his point to the floor, and stood with both hands resting on the hilt.