Mohun’s smile disappeared suddenly. He looked at Darke, whose burly figure was seen at the head of the charging column; and that glance was troubled and doubtful.
“I am sorry to meet him,” he said, in a low tone.
“Why?”
“He would not strike me yonder, in Pennsylvania, when I was in his power.”
“But he has sworn to kill you to-day!” I exclaimed. “I have just heard him swear that! Look out, Mohun! here they are!”
In an instant the two columns had clashed together, like thunder. What followed was a fierce and confused struggle—sabres clashing, carbines banging, men shouting, groaning, and falling from their horses, which trampled over the dead and wounded alike.
I was close beside Mohun as he closed in with Darke. The latter had plainly resolved on his enemy’s destruction; and in an instant the two men were cutting furiously at each other with their sabres. They were body to body—their faces flamed—it was rather a wrestle on horseback, than a sword fight.
Suddenly Mohun delivered a blow which fell upon his opponent’s sword hand, nearly cutting through the fingers. Darke’s arm instinctively fell, and he was at his adversary’s mercy.
Instead of plunging his sword into Darke’s breast, however, as he might have done, Mohun let its point fall, and said:—
“Take your life! Now I am even with you, sir!”