“I wonder if he taught you how to meet this.”
“He did,” answered Erskine, parrying easily and with an answering thrust that turned Grey suddenly anxious. Constantly Grey manœuvred to keep his back to the moon, and just as constantly Erskine easily kept him where the light shone fairly on both. Grey began to breathe heavily.
“I think, too,” said Erskine, “that my wind is a little better than yours—would you like a short resting-spell?”
From the shadow Ephraim chuckled, and Grey snapped:
“Make that black devil——”
“Keep quiet, Ephraim!” broke in Erskine sternly. Again Grey manœuvred for the moon, to no avail, and Erskine gave warning:
“Try that again and I will put that moon in your eyes and keep it there.” Grey was getting angry now and was beginning to pant.
“Your wind is short,” said Erskine with mock compassion. “I will give you a little breathing-spell presently.”
Grey was not wasting his precious breath now and he made no answer.
“Now!” said Erskine sharply, and Grey’s blade flew from his hand and lay like a streak of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed for it.