Presently, even to Peggy’s inexperienced eye, it became apparent that Clifford was tiring. Drayton, who from the beginning of the encounter had fought purely on the defensive, was quick to perceive the other’s fatigue. Suddenly with a vigorous side-thrust he twisted the sword from his antagonist’s grasp, and sent it glittering in the air. Finding himself disarmed Clifford quickly stepped backward two or three steps. In so doing his foot slipped, and he fell. Instantly Drayton stood over his prostrate form.
“Forbear, John,” shrieked Peggy in horrified tones. “Thee must not. Is he not helpless?”
“Have no fear, Peggy,” answered the young man lightly. “He shall meet with no hurt, though in truth he merits it. Sir,” to Clifford who lay regarding him with a look of profound humiliation, “you hear, do you not? I spare you because of her. And also because I am much to blame that matters have come to this pass betwixt us. Rise, sir!”
“I want no mercy at your hands,” retorted the other, his flushed face, his whole manner testifying to his deep mortification. “You have won the advantage, sir. Use it. I wish no favor from you.”
“’Tis not the habit of Americans to slay a disarmed foe, sir. If you are not satisfied, rise; and have to again.”
“No, no!” cried Peggy, possessing herself of the fallen sword. “Is there not already fighting enough in the land without contending against each other? Ye have fought once. Let that suffice.”
“My sword, Peggy,” exclaimed Clifford, rising, and stepping toward her.
“Thee shall not have it, unless thee takes it by force,” returned the girl, placing the weapon behind her, and clasping it with both hands. “And that,” she added, “I do not believe thee would be so unmannerly as to use. Therefore, the matter is ended.”
Drayton sheathed his sword on the moment.
“I am satisfied to let it be so,” he said. “And now, Peggy, as to ourselves: what will be the best time for you to start home?”