n exclaimed between teeth that almost crushed
one another. "You prowling hypocrite of hell!"

Father Beret said something. It was not complimentary, and it sounded
sulphurous, if not profane. Remember, however, that a priest can
scarcely hope to be better than Peter, and Peter did actually make the
Simon pure remark when hard pressed. At all events Father Beret said
something with vigorous emphasis, and met Hamilton half way.

Both men, stimulated to the finger-tips by a draught of imperious
passion, fairly plunged to the inevitable conflict. Ah, if Alice could
have seen her beautiful weapons cross, if she could have heard the
fine, far-reaching clink, clink, clink, while sparks leaped forth,
dazzling even in the moonlight; if she could have noted the admirable,
nay, the amazing, play, as the men, regaining coolness to some extent,
gathered their forces and fell cautiously to the deadly work, it would
have been enough to change the cold shimmer of her face to a flash of
warm delight. For she would have understood every feint, longe, parry,
and seen at a glance how Father Beret set the pace and led the race at
the beginning. She would have understood; for Father Beret had taught
her all she knew about the art of fencing.

Hamilton quickly felt, and with a sense of its strangeness, the
priest's masterly command of his weapon. The surprise called up all his
caution and cleverness. Before he could adjust himself to such an
unexpected condition he came near being spitted outright by a pretty
pass under his guard. The narrow escape, while it put him on his best
mettle, sent a wave of superstition through his brain. He recalled what
Barlow had jocularly said about the doings of the devil-priest or
priest-devil at Roussillon place on that night when the patrol guard
attempted to take Gaspard Roussillon. Was this, indeed, Father Beret,
that gentle old man, now before him, or was it an avenging demon from
the shades?

The thought flitted electrically across his mind, while he deftly
parried, feinted, longed, giving his dark antagonist all he could do to
meet the play. Priest or devil, he thought, he cared not which, he
would reach its vitals presently. Yet there lingered with him a
haunting half-fear, or tenuous awe, which may have aided, rather than
hindered his excellent swordsmanship.

Under foot it was slushy with mud, water and ice, the consistency
varying from a somewhat solid crust to puddles that half inundated
Hami