ing; noting all of which the Sergeant's
bewilderment grew to anxiety, while Colonel Cleeve's fingers were
twisting and wrenching at the button harder than ever.

Without the windows was the ceaseless rush of the wind, now rising to
an angry roar, now dying to a mournful wail; within was a ceaseless
tread of shoeless feet and ring of steel, now clashing fierce and loud,
and always the Sergeant's anxiety increased, for the Major's parries
seemed slower than ever; again and again his adversary's point,
flashing perilously near, was turned only just in time, once ripping
the cambric at his neck and again at shoulder; and ever Mr. Dalroyd's
smile grew more confident and the spectators' anxious bewilderment the
keener.

All at once the Sergeant uttered a gasp, the Colonel took a quick
stride forward as Mr. Dalroyd, thrusting in tierce, flashed into carte
and drove in a vicious lunge--was met by lightning riposte and flinging
himself sideways sprang out of distance, a fleck of blood upon his
shirt-sleeve.

"You are touched, I think, sir?" enquired the Colonel.

"Thank you, 'tis nought in the world," he answered, panting a little
but with lips that curled and nostrils that quivered in his cold smile
as he watched the Major who stood, haggard of face, one hand pressed to
his side, his lips close-set, breathing hard through his nose.

"Art hurt, man Jack--art hurt?"

"Nay sir I--I am well enough!" he answered, forcing a ghastly
smile--"when Captain Effingham is ready----"

"Nay sir," answered Mr. Dalroyd, bowing, "pray take your time--you are
a little distressed I think, pray recover your breath----"

"I am quite ready, sir." So they bowed to each other, advanced upon
each other and again their weapons crossed. And now as though they
knew it was a matter of time they pressed each other more fiercely and
with a new impetuosity, yet equally alert and wary--came a whirl and
flurry of ringing steel drowned all at once in the crash of splintering
glass at one of the windows--a frenzied hand that groped, then the
casement swung wide with a rush of wind and, as though borne in upon
the raging tempest, a figure sprang into the room, long hair flying, a
cloud of tresses black as the night, silks and satins torn and
mud-splashed, one white hand grasping a silver-mounted pistol, the
other stretched out commandingly.

"Stop!" she panted. "Stop!"

At sight of her Mr. Dalroyd lowered his weapon and bowed; the Major,
with head d