“I am here, sir,” retorted his lordship, scowling, “in the exercise of my duty. If your tenants be minded to duck a notorious witch, ’tis no affair o’ mine. And I warn ye, sir, that in yon old hag’s cottage we have found indisputable evidence that——”
“Tush!” exclaimed Sir John, “do not weary me with the details o’ your man-hunting trade, sir. Your arm is strong enough to flourish a whip, I perceive, and mine, you’ll observe, is less sound than it might be. Come, then, my lord—the grass is smooth and level on Dering Tye—let us forthwith earnestly endeavour to make an end o’ one another—for, by heaven, I’ll wait no longer!”
“Orme,” cried his lordship, “ha’ the goodness to bring my sword.”
The Major hastened to obey and, taking the weapon, my lord stepped from under the porch to where Sir John awaited him; side by side they walked together, and together reached the smooth green, watched by the silent crowd, which slowly closed about them until they stood within a wide ring of hushed and awestruck spectators. Then Sir John tossed aside laced hat, drew his sword, tossed the scabbard after the hat, and, point to earth, watched his lordship do the same; but scarce was his blade free than Lord Sayle sprang with glittering point out-thrust, but Sir John, ever watchful, leapt nimbly aside, avoided the stroke, laughed, and steel met steel. And, standing thus, poised, alert, eyes glaring into eyes, blade pressing blade, Sir John spoke in his high, clear voice:
“A murderous trick, my lord, and worthy of ye. Now, look around you, note the beauty of this fair afternoon—’tis your last, my lord, for so sure as you hold sword, I mean to kill ye!”
The stamp of sudden foot, a flurry of twirling blades in thrust and parry, and they were motionless again.
“Kill and end ye, my lord!” repeated Sir John. “But first, for the behoof of our so numerous spectators, we will show ’em a few gasconading flourishes. Your coat, my lord, they shall see it flutter in merest rags about you ere we finish—thus! So ho, my lord, one—two!” A sudden whirl of close-playing steel, the flash of darting point, and now, as they thrust and parried, all eyes might see my Lord Sayle’s brown velvet disfigured by two gaping rents from waist to hem, and from the watching throng rose a hoarse murmur of amazement. But my lord, nothing dismayed, fought but the more warily, while Sir John, it seemed, grew ever the more reckless; ensued long periods of fierce action, thrust, parry and counter-thrust, followed by sudden pauses, tense moments of utter stillness wherein blade felt blade and eye glared to eye.
Foremost among the spectators loomed the gigantic figure of Sir Hector, his face suffused and damp, who babbled prayers as the murderous steel flashed and darted, while beside him stood Corporal Robert, deadly pale, who muttered fitful curses.
“Damme, sir, his arm’s begun a-bleeding!” groaned the Corporal.
“Guid love us a’—so ’tis!” exclaimed Sir Hector, seizing the Corporal by the collar; “an’ O Rabbie—man, see how wild he is.... Sayle will hae him yet!” Here Sir Hector nearly swung the Corporal from his legs in his emotion.