“Thank you, Armand!”
But it very nearly cost him his own life, for in trying to catch a glimpse of her he had loosed his eye-grip, and Lotzen’s point shot out viciously, and only a lucky swing aside sent it scraping along the skin instead of through the neck.
“Rather close, cousin!” he remarked.
“The next will be closer,” said the Duke softly. “Meanwhile, the Book burns.”
But the Archduke did not fall into the trap, and loose the eye-grip a second time.
“Let it burn!” he answered, “I’d rather kill you than save it—but I will do both.”
“If you can, cousin! if you can—” and the swords rang on.
And the Duke was right—the Book was burning, slowly, but burning none the less. His throw had been a trifle short, and instead of being in the heart of the fire it was on the outer edge, where the coals were not so glowing. There the leather and metal cover had protected it for a short while, but now the tiny flames were crawling along the edges, shooting up quick pencils of light that flared ever higher and more frequent.
And Dehra caught the gleam when it flashed the brightest, and in a fury of desire she drove at Madeline Spencer. Hitherto she had aimed only to disarm her, now it was the Book at any price.
But the American woman’s defense was still impenetrable; defence was her forte—trick, feint, attack, she knew every one, and always her sword blocked them or turned them aside. But there she had stopped; never once had she herself assumed the offensive. She would take no chance of killing the Regent; and she had soon discovered the Regent was not aiming to kill her. But now she felt the change, and she knew that it was a matter of only a little while until she would have to yield or be sped. She could hear Lotzen and the Archduke, at the other end of the room, still fighting as fiercely as at the beginning;—the taunting laugh; the quip given, and returned; the crash of a chair as one of them kicked it away; but all she saw was the flitting steel before her, and the Princess’ glowing eyes.