as if there were some
reason why he should be less indifferent regarding this antagonist
than he had shown himself regarding Tom Faringfield and me.

The principals removed their hats, coats, and waistcoats. As they were
not booted, but appeared in stockings and low shoes, they made two
fine and supple figures to look upon. The formalities between Mr.
Idsleigh and me were as brief as possible. Falconer chose his sword
with a pretence of scarce looking at it, Philip gave his the usual
examination, and the two men stood on guard.

There was a little wary play at first, while each sought an inkling of
the other's method. Then some livelier work, in which they warmed
themselves and got their muscles into complete facility, followed upon
Phil's pretending to lose his guard. All this was but overture, and it
came to a stop for a short pause designed as preliminary to the real
duel. Both were now perspiring, and breathing into their lungs deep
draughts of air. Falconer's expression showed that he had recognised
better fencing in Phil's work than he had thought to find; but Phil's
face conveyed no such surprise, for he had counted upon an adversary
possessed of the first skill.

'Twas Falconer who began what we all felt was to be the serious part
of the combat. Phil parried the thrust neatly; made a feint, but,
instantly recovering, availed himself of his opponent's counter
movement, and sank his point fair into Falconer's left breast. The
English captain tumbled instantly to the ground. The swiftness of the
thing startled us. Idsleigh and his medical companion stared in
amazement, wondering that the fallen man should lie so still. It took
a second or two for that which their eyes had informed them, to
penetrate to their understanding. But Philip and I knew that the lunge
had pierced the heart, and that the accomplished Lovelace on the
ground would charm no more women.

'Twas only when we were hastening back to our hackney-coach, that
Philip trembled. Then for a few moments his teeth chattered as if he
were taken with a chill, and his face was deathly pale.

"'Tis terrible," he said, in an awed tone, "to kill a man this way.
'Tis not like in war. On a morning like this, in the civil manner of
gentlemen, to make of such a marvellous living, thinking, feeling
machine a poor heap of senseless flesh and bone that can only
rot:--and all in the time of a sword-thrust!"

"Tut!" said I, "the world is the better for the riddance