with a steadier eye than that of his foe. Also, as the combat developed,
it was clear that he had a hand as steady as his eye. What was more, his
wrist had superb strength and flexibility; it was as enduring and vital
as the forefoot and ankle of a tiger. As a pair they were certainly
notable, and would give a good account of themselves.

No one of temperament who observed the scene could ever forget it. The
light was perfect--evenly distributed, clear enough to permit accuracy of
distance in a stroke. The air was still, gently bracing, and, like most
Irish air, adorably sweet.

The spot chosen for the fight was a sort of avenue between great trees,
whose broad leaves warded off the direct sun, and whose shade had as yet
no black shadows. The turf was as elastic to the foot as a firm
mattress. In the trees, birds were singing with liveliness; in the
distance, horned cattle browsed, and a pair of horses stood gazing at
the combatants, startled, no doubt, by this invasion of their pasturage.
From the distance came the faint, mellow booming of church-bells.

The two men fighting had almost the air of gladiators. Their coats were
off, and the white linen of their shirts looked gracious; while the
upraised left hand of the fighters balancing the sword-thrust and the
weight of the body had an almost singular beauty. Of the two, Dyck was
the more graceful, the steadier, the quicker in his motions.

Vigilant Dyck was, but not reckless. He had made the first attack, on
the ground that the aggressor gains by boldness, if that boldness is
joined to skill; and Dyck's skill was of the best. His heart was warm.
His momentary vision of Sheila Llyn remained with him--not as a vision,
rather as a warmth in his inmost being, something which made him