Mason grew soberer as he stood looking at the struggle. So alike were the two that but for the difference in dress, one could hardly have been told from the other.
Was it a dream? Old memories came flooding o’er the man’s weak brain, and his eyes cleared.
“Stop!” he called in a voice shaken with agony. “My God! boys, stop until I can think!”
But the two combatants paid no heed. Blows fell thick and fast, and the breath came hard. Morley’s trained muscles had all they could do to stand up against Robert’s blind fury. Then, too, Shirtliffe was slightly taller, and he used that advantage well.
“Surrender!” hissed Morley through clinched teeth.
“Never!” Robert’s voice quivered and broke into a sob.
“Then by heaven, in the name of the King!” Morley sprang from his antagonist and drew out a pistol, “die like the traitor that you are!”
Molly.
“Stand aside! ... in low, tense tones.”
A sharp report rang out. A stinging pain in his left hand made Robert reel, but he forgot it when he saw Mason, who had run toward them in a last effort to separate them, sway and fall over. The ball which had gone through Shirtliffe’s hand had found a resting place in the old man’s breast.