tranter, who was as active as he was strong, had

already recovered himself and turned it aside with a movement of

his heavy blade. again he whizzed in a blow which made the

spectators hold their breath, and again alleyne very quickly and

swiftly slipped from under it, and sent back two lightning

thrusts which the other could scarce parry. so close were they

to each other that alleyne had no time to spring back from the

next cut, which beat down his sword and grazed his forehead,

sending the blood streaming into his eyes and down his cheeks.

he sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stood breathing

heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed their applause.

"bravely struck on both sides!" cried roger harcomb. "you have

both won honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame

to let it go further."

"you have done enough, edricson," said norbury.

"you have carried yourself well," cried several of the older

squires.

"for my part, i have no wish to slay this young man," said

tranter, wiping his heated brow.

"does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me

despitefully?" asked alleyne.

"nay, not i."

"then stand on your guard, sir!" with a clatter and dash the two

blades met once more, alleyne pressing in so as to keep within

the full sweep of the heavy blade, while tranter as continually

sprang back to have space for one of his fatal cuts. a three-

parts-parried blow drew blood from alleyne's left shoulder, but

at the same moment he wounded tranter slightly upon the thigh.

next instant, however, his blade had slipped into the fatal

notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinkling upon the

ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen inches

long was all that remained to him of his weapon.

"your life is in my hands!" cried tranter, with a bitter smile.

"nay, nay, he makes submission!" broke in several squires.

another sword!" cried ford.

"nay, sir," said harcomb, "that is not the custom."

"throw down your hilt, edricson," cried norbury.

"never!" said alleyne. "do you crave my pardon, sir?"

"you are mad to ask it."

"then on guard again!" cried the young squire, and sprang in with

a fire and a fury which more than made up for the shortness of

his weapon. it had not escaped him that his opponent was

breathing in short, hoarse gasps, like a man who is dizzy with

fatigue. now was the time for the purer living and the more

agile limb to show their value. back and back gave tranter, ever

seeking time for a last cut. on and on came alleyne, his jagged

point now at his foeman's face, now at his throat, now at his

chest, still stabbing and thrusting to pass the line of steel

which covered him. yet his experienced foeman knew well that

such efforts could not be long sustained. let him relax for one

instant, and his death-blow had come. relax he must! flesh and

blood could not stand the strain. already the thrusts were less

fierce, the foot less ready, although there was no abatement of

the spirit in the steady gray eyes. tranter, cunning and wary

from years of fighting, knew that his chance had come. he

brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him, whirled

up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--and

vanished into the waters of the garonne.

so intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been

on the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and

swift still stream had gone from their minds. it was not until

tranter, giving back before the other's fiery rush, was upon the

very brink, that a general cry warned him of his danger. that

last spring, which he hoped would have brought the fight to a

bloody end, carried him clear of the edge, and he found himself

in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold stream. once and

twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke up through the

still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of the current.

in vain were sword-sheaths, apple-branches and belts linked

together thrown out to him by his companions. alleyne had

dropped his shattered sword and was standing, trembling in every

limb, with his rage all changed in an instant to pity. for the

third time the drowning man came to the surface, his hands full

of green slimy water-plants, his eyes turned in despair to the

shore. their glance fell upon alleyne, and he could not

withstand the mute appeal which he read in them. in an instant

he, too, was in the garonne, striking out with powerful strokes

for his late foeman,

yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he

was, it was no easy task which alleyne had set himself. to

clutch at tranter and to seize him by the hair was the work of a

few seconds, but to hold his head above water and to make their

way out of the current was another matter. for a