Erskine smiled.
“The risk is perhaps less than you think.”
“You have not been idle?”
“I have learned more of my father’s swords than I knew when we used them last.”
“I am glad—it will be more interesting.” Erskine looked toward the house and moved impatiently.
“My brother officer has dined too well,” noted Grey placidly, “and the rest of my—er—retinue are gambling. We are quite secure.”
“Ah!” Erskine breathed—he had seen the black boy run down the steps with something under one arm and presently Ephraim was in the shadow of the thicket:
“Give one to Mr. Grey, Ephraim, and the other to me. I believe you said on that other occasion that there was no choice of blades?”
“Quite right,” Grey answered, skilfully testing his bit of steel.
“Keep well out of the way, Ephraim,” warned Erskine, “and take this pistol. You may need it, if I am worsted, to protect yourself.”