“Make them stop! Oh, good God, can no one make them stop?” wept Juliana, shuddering as steel rang against steel in a scuffle of blades.
“I hope very much that they will make an end of each other!” said Miss Challoner, stiff with anger.
“How can you say such a thing?” gasped Juliana. “It is all your fault! Oh, but married! married!”
The stockinged feet padded on the bare floor; Mr. Comyn, disengaging above the wrist, was forced back hard against the table. Miss Challoner saw his guard waver, and knew all at once that he was spent. The Marquis followed up his advantage ruthlessly, and Miss Challoner, forgetting her pious wish, seized one of the discarded coats, and ran in on the swords, catching at them through the heavy cloth. She threw herself in the way as the Marquis lunged; Mr. Comyn’s blade was entangled in the coat, but his lordship’s point flashed under it, driven by the whole force of his arm. It seemed as though to check were an impossibility; Juliana, peeping through her fingers, gave a scream of warning and horror. The Marquis’s point glanced up Miss Challoner’s arm, ripping her gown at the shoulder, and was wrenched back.
The sword went spinning, my lord caught Miss Challoner’s swaying form in his arms, his face as white as hers. “Mary! Mary!” he said hoarsely. “My God, what have I done?”
“Murderer! You have killed her!” panted Mr. Comyn, and came up close as though to snatch Miss Challoner away from him.
He was thrust aside. “Stand off from her!” the Marquis shot at him. “Mary, look at me! Mary, my little love, my precious girl, I’ve not killed you!”
Miss Challoner, who had half fainted, more from shock than actual hurt, opened her eyes and achieved a wan smile. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “The — the — veriest pin-prick. Oh, what did you call me?”
The Marquis lifted her quite off her feet, and carried her to the armchair just vacated by Juliana. He put her gently down in it, and saw the red stain at the neck of her gown. Over his shoulder he threw an order at Mr. Comyn. “Get the flask from my greatcoat!”
Juliana cried: “Oh, there is blood on her dress! Mary, are you dreadfully hurt?”