clear to the right again. Sir Matthew disengaged over, and, as the
sudden release brought Sir Seymour's sword springing in, he thrust
under that gentleman's right arm and scratched his side.

As he recovered his sword he held it for a moment with the point
raised toward Sir Seymour's face. Instantly Sir Seymour's point
tinkled on his hilt, and Captain Delorme murmured "Finis" beneath his
breath.

Sir Stukeley Seymour's blade shot in, Sir Matthew's moved to parry,
and the point of the advancing sword flickered under his hand, turned
upward, and pierced his heart.

"Yes," said Captain Delorme, as the stricken man fell, "if he parries
outward the point goes under, if he anticipates a feint it comes
straight in, and if he parries a lunge-and-feint-under, he gets
feint-over before he can come up. I have never seen Stukeley miss when
once he rests on the hilt. _Exit_ de Warrenne--and Hell the worse for
it----" and the boy awoke.

He kissed the sword and fell asleep again.

One day, when receiving his morning fencing and boxing lessons of
Sergeant Havlan, he astonished that warrior (and made a bitter enemy
of him) by warning him against allowing his blade to rest on the
Sergeant's hilt, and by hitting him clean and fair whenever it was
allowed to happen. Also, by talking of "the Italian school of fence"
and of "invitations"--the which were wholly outside the
fencing-philosophy of the French-trained swordsman. At the age of
fifteen the boy was too good for the man who had been the best that