valiant and so honorable. And then the fatal strife began anew.

With his left hand Heimbert dashed aside Fadrique's sword, which had
been aimed at him with a thrust in tierce, sideward, but the keen
edge had penetrated his leathern glove, and the red blood gushed out.
"Hold!" cried Fadrique, and they searched for the wound, but soon
perceiving that it was of no importance, and binding it up, they both
began the combat with undiminished vigor.

It was not long before Heimbert's blade pierced Fadrique's right
shoulder, and the German, feeling that he had wounded his opponent,
now on his side called out to halt. At first Fadrique would not
acknowledge to the injury, but soon the blood began to trickle down,
and he was obliged to accept his friend's careful assistance. Still
this wound also appeared insignificant, the noble Spaniard still felt
power to wield his sword, and again the deadly contest was renewed
with knightly ardor.

Presently the garden-gate clanked, and the sound of a horse's step
was heard advancing through the shrubbery. Both combatants paused in
their stern work and turned toward the unwelcome disturber. The next
moment through the slender pines a horseman was visible whose dress
and bearing proclaimed him a warrior and Fadrique, as master of the
house, at once addressed him. "Senor," said he, "why you come here,
intruding into a strange garden, we will inquire at another time.
For the present I will only request you to leave us free from further
interruption by immediately retiring, and to favor me with your
name." "Retire I will not," replied the stranger, "but my name I
will gladly tell you. I am the Duke of Alba." And as he spoke, by a
movement of his charger a bright moonbeam fell upon his pale thin