ime in putting it to use.
As his opponent walked towards him he suddenly bounded forward and sent
in a whistling cut which would have severed the other in twain had he
not sprung lightly back from it. So close was it that the point ripped
a gash in the jutting edge of his linen cyclas. Quick as a panther,
Alleyne sprang in with a thrust, but Tranter, who was as active as he
was strong, had already recovered himself and turned it aside with a
movement of his heavy blade. Again he whizzed in a blow which made the
spectators hold their breath, and again Alleyne very quickly and swiftly
slipped from under it, and sent back two lightning thrusts which the
other could scarce parry. So close were they to each other that Alleyne
had no time to spring back from the next cut, which beat down his sword
and grazed his forehead, sending the blood streaming into his eyes and
down his cheeks. He sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stood
breathing heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed their
applause.

"Bravely struck on both sides!" cried Roger Harcomb. "You have both
won honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame to let it go
further."

"You have done enough, Edricson," said Norbury.

"You have carried yourself well," cried several of the older squires.

"For my part, I have no wish to slay this young man," said Tranter,
wiping his heated brow.

"Does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me despitefully?"
asked Alleyne.

"Nay, not I."

"Then stand on your guard, sir!" With a clatter and dash the two blades
met once more, Alleyne pressing in so as to keep within the full sweep
of the heavy blade, while Tranter as continually sprang back to have
space for one of his fatal cuts. A three-parts-parried blow drew blood
from Alleyne's left shoulder, but at the same moment he wounded Tranter
slightly upon the thigh. Next instant, however, his blade had slipped
into the fatal notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinkling
upon the ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen inches
long was all that remained to him of his weapon.

"Your life is in my hands!" cried Tranter, with a bitter smile.

"Nay, nay, he makes submission!" broke in several squires.

"Another sword!" cried Ford.

"Nay, sir," said Harcomb, "that is not the custom."

"Throw down your hilt, Edricson," cried Norbury.

"Never!" said Alleyne. "Do you crave my pardon, sir?"

"You are mad to ask it."