"Thou shalt not draw it!" gasped Myles at last. "Thou shalt not stab
me!"

Then again some of his friends started forward to his aid, but they were
not needed, for before they came, the fight was over.

Blunt, finding that he was not able to draw the weapon, suddenly ceased
his endeavors, and flung his arms around Myles, trying to bear him down
upon the ground, and in that moment his battle was lost.

In an instant--so quick, so sudden, so unexpected that no one could see
how it happened--his feet were whirled away from under him, he spun with
flying arms across Myles's loins, and pitched with a thud upon the stone
pavement, where he lay still, motionless, while Myles, his face white
with passion and his eyes gleaming, stood glaring around like a young
wild-boar beset by the dogs.

The next moment the silence was broken, and the uproar broke forth
with redoubled violence. The bachelors, leaping from the benches, came
hurrying forward on one side, and Myles's friends from the other.

"Thou shalt smart for this, Falworth," said one of the older lads.
"Belike thou hast slain him!"

Myles turned upon the speaker like a flash, and with such a passion of
fury in his face that the other, a fellow nearly a head taller than he,
shrank back, cowed in spite of himself. Then Gascoyne came and laid his
hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Who touches me?" cried Myles, hoarsely, turning sharply upon him; and