“Have you any object in pressing me to fight longer? By the law of arms you are not justified in thus asking me again when I am defeated,” said young Willmington.
“Perhaps not,” answered Appadocca, “but you must recollect this is a very particular case. To be frank, I must confess I am scarcely satisfied with the chance that I have afforded you, I like to satisfy justice, sir. Pray try it again.”
“Strange man, I shall,” answered young Willmington, and then began to prepare himself more deliberately for this second combat.
The swords were again crossed. Willmington no longer thrust so widely as he did—he fenced more cautiously. Appadocca still maintained the defensive. The combat proceeded but coldly—Willmington tried every skilful pass and cunning trick. He had contrived to edge his sword, as he imagined, imperceptibly to Appadocca, within but a short distance from his adversary’s hilt, and was just inclining his hand inwards to thrust home, when Appadocca met the inclination by an opposite movement, and by a sudden jerk again unarmed his adversary.
“Sir, destiny seems to favour me at these. I presume you have pistols, shall we try them?” inquired Appadocca.
“It strikes me you are longing for my blood?” remarked young Willmington.
“By no means,” answered Appadocca, “I have waded through too much of that already. But I am willing to give you the greatest opportunity of redeeming your father. Then am I to understand that you will fight no more?”
“No more,” answered young Willmington.
Appadocca drew forth a small silver whistle, he blew it, and in a moment the pavilion was again surrounded by his men.