ly nose, a loud voice, and a
swanky manner. The boy disapproved of him wholly. It was like his
cheek to resemble Father, as well as to have the same name.

His companion came over to the gentleman called Will, carrying the
strong man's bared sword and, bowing ridiculously (with his hat, both
hands, and his feet) said:--

"Shall we measure, Captain Ormonde Delorme?"

Captain Delorme then took the sword from Sir Seymour, bowed as the
other had done, and handed him the sword with a mighty flourish, hilt
first.

It proved to be half an inch shorter than the other, and Captain
Delorme remarked that his Principal would waive that.

He and the strong man's companion then chose a spot where the grass
was very short and smooth, where there were no stones, twigs or
inequalities, and where the light of the setting sun fell sideways
upon the combatants--who tip-toed gingerly, and rather ridiculously,
in their stockinged feet, to their respective positions. Facing each
other, they saluted with their swords and then stood with the right
arm pointing downwards and across the body so that the hilt of the
sword was against the right thigh and the blade directed to the rear.

"One word, Sir Matthew de Warrenne," said Sir Seymour as they paused
in this attitude. "If my point rests for a second on your hilt _you
are a dead man_."

Sir Matthew laughed in an ugly manner and replied:--

"And what is your knavish design now, Sir Seymour Stukeley?"

"My design _was_ to warn you of an infallible trick of fence, Sir
Matthew. It _now_ is to kill you--for the insult, and on behalf of ...
your own unhappy daughter."

The other yawned and remarked to his friend:--

"I have a parade in half an hour."

"On guard," cried the person addressed, drawing his sword and
striking an attitude.

"Play," cried Captain Delorme, doing similarly.

Both principals crouched somewhat, held their swords horizontal, with
point to the adversary's breast and hilt drawn back, arm sharply
bent--for both, it appeared, had perfected the Art of Arts in Italy.

These niceties escaped the boy in his earlier dreamings of the
dream--but the time came when he could name every pass, parry,
invitation, and riposte.

The strong man suddenly threw his sword-hand high and towards his left
shoulder, keeping his sword horizontal, and exposing the whole of his
right side.

Sir Seymour lunged hard for his ribs, beneath the right arm-pit and,
as the other's sword swoope