His wrist and arm ached to the shoulder, and
always he saw before him the leaping steel and the smiling mask of a
face. He caught a glimpse of the blue sky and the shining river, and
then his eyes came back to the one that held his fate. Well for de Mezy
that he had made the offer that morning to substitute Willet for Lennox,
since youth, with the hot blood of battle pulsing in its veins, may
think too late of mercy. But Robert remembered. His revenge was already
complete. All had seen the pallid face of de Mezy, and all, whether
they knew anything of the sword or not, knew that he lay at the mercy of
his foe.
"Strike and make an end!" gasped de Mezy.
The sword flashed before his eyes again, but the blade did not touch
him. Instead his own sword was torn from his weakening grasp, and was
flung far upon the grass. Young Lennox, turning away, sheathed his
weapon.
"Well done, Robert!" said Willet.
De Mezy put his hand to his face, which was wet with perspiration, and
steadied himself. He had grown quite dizzy in the last few moments, and
the pulses in his head beat so heavily that he could neither see nor
think well.
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