he was upset. His wanton wordiness came to his rescue, and until the end
of the game he played with sang-froid, daring, and skill. He loved
cards; he loved the strife of skill against skill, of trick against
trick, of hand against hand. He had never fought a duel in his life,
but he had no fear of doing so.

At length, having won back nearly all he had lost, he rose to his feet
and looked round.

"Is there any one here from whom I can ask a favour?"

Several stepped forward. Dyck nodded. One of them he knew. It was Sir
Almeric Foyle.

"Thank you, Sir Almeric," he said; "thank you. Shall it be swords or
pistols?" he asked his enemy, coolly.

"Swords, if you please," remarked Mallow grimly, for he had a gift with
the sword.

Dyck nodded again.

"As you will. As you will!"




CHAPTER IV

THE DUEL