Sir Edmund Acour and John Clavering's black hair.

"An ill omen for those two, and especially for him who wears a white
swan for a crest," said a voice. But at the moment none took much
notice, except Grey Dick, who chuckled at the success of his shot, since
all were intent on greater matters--namely, which of those two young men
should die.

Sir John, the father, rode forward and addressed them.

"To the death without mercy to the fallen," he said grimly.

They bent their heads in answer.

"Now!" he cried, and reined back his horse.

"The first home thrust wins," whispered Acour to him, as he wiped the
blood of the swan off his sleeve. "Thank God, your son's sword is the
longer!"

Perhaps the pair heard this whisper, or, perhaps, being without mail,
they knew that it was so. At least for a while they circled round and
round each other, but out of reach.

Then at length John Clavering rushed in and thrust. Hugh sprang back
before his point. Again he rushed and thrust and again Hugh sprang
back. A third time and Hugh fairly ran, whereon a shout went up from the
Claverings.

"The chapman's afraid!" cried one. "Give him a yard measure," shouted