the greatest care--I see it now; it
was an old-fashioned firearm of Spanish make,--stood a pace only back
from him, fixed my eye on his, with a sudden jerk flung the pistol fifty
paces behind me, and throwing myself upon Marc, bore him to the ground,
and held him there in a vice!

Then began our struggle for life!

At first, the advantage was mine. I was a-top. In strength we had
always been pretty equally matched. Sometimes I had been able to throw
Marc, sometimes he had thrown me. Now the contest was unequal. It is
true I had the advantage of fighting for life, but the struggle was with
the supernatural strength of a madman. I had dropped my stick before
taking the pistol from the hand of Marc. In this tussle it would have
been of no service to me. This was man to man.

I pinned mad Marc to the ground, my hands on his arms, my knees on his
chest. He writhed, and tore, and struggled under me. No word was
spoken between us. The advantage was with me. Thus we continued for
what seemed an immense length of time--for what was, perhaps, a quarter
of an hour. It was an incessant struggle with us both; with me to keep
Marc Debois down--with Marc to master me.

I felt my strength giving way. My joints were stiffening, my fingers
becoming numb with the pressure. Besides this, I was in a profuse
sweat, caused by the violent exertion, and partly by the alarm at what
would happen if I should, in turn, be under the giant frame of Marc. It
was to the accident of throwing him first, by my sudden and unexpected
attack, that I owed the last fifteen minutes of my life. If I spoke, I
found it made him more violent in his efforts to master me. I thought
the sound of my voice maddened him the more.

My brain seemed clogged. At first, thought had followed thought with
painful rapidity. My life had passed before me in panoramic procession.
Now I had a novel feeling, such as I had never experienced before. Was
I--the thought was terrible!--was I, under the horrible fascination of
Marc's eye--losing my reason? I made an effort to think. To rouse
myself I multiplied fifteen by sixty. Nine hundred--nine hundred
seconds of my life had passed in this fearful struggle with a madman!
How many more seconds had I to live? How much longer could I hold my
own? Not long! I was rapidly becoming exhausted. I commended myself
to the Almighty.

Hark! wheels--coming.

Marc hears the sound, too. I am weak now. He makes one