"You have lied, you miserable dastard! Geraldine is as pure as snow, and unless you take back your falsehoods I will strangle them in your throat!"
A hoarse, gurgling laugh issued from the convulsed throat of Standish, and the next moment they closed in deadly combat.
Both were strong and athletic men, both brave, both desperate, and for a few minutes the contest they waged was an equal one.
But suddenly Hawthorne began to get the advantage.
He had his foe down and his knee on his breast.
"Will you take back your foul lie, hound?" he hissed, fiercely.
Standish made no answer in words.
He had been struggling all the while to get at his hip-pocket, and now he succeeded in drawing out a dagger and plunging it in Hawthorne's breast. There was a horrible ripping sound, and he rolled over bleeding in the snow.