Hyde was an excellent swordsman, and had fought several duels; but he

was quite disconcerted by the deadly reality of Neil's attack. In the

second thrust, his foot got entangled in a tuft of grass; and, in

evading a lunge aimed at his heart, he fell on his right side.

Supporting himself, however, on his sword hand, he sprang backwards with

great dexterity, and thus escaped the probable death-blow. But, as he

was bleeding from a wound in the throat, his second interfered, and

proposed a reconciliation. Neil angrily refused to listen. He declared

that he "had not come to enact a farce;" and then, happening to glance

at the ribbon on Hyde's breast, he swore furiously, "He would make his

way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just

anger."

Up to this point, there had been in Hyde's mind a latent disinclination

to slay Neil. After it, he flung away every kind memory; and the fight

was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until there ensued one of

those close locks which it was evident nothing but "the key of the body

could open." In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of both

men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with

the force. Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both,

bleeding and exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that

moment Van Heemskirk and Semple, with their attendants, reached the spot.

Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men,--Van

Heemskirk facing Hyde, and the elder his son. "Neil, you dear lad, you

born fool, gie me your weapon instanter, sir!" But there was no need to

say another word. Neil fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall

a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Hyde's breast; for Hyde

had also dropped fainting to the ground, bleeding from at least half a

dozen wounds. Then one of Semple's young men, who had probably defined

the cause of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made

as if he would pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson

in Hyde's blood.

But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away. "To touch it would be

the vilest theft," he said. "His own it is. With his life he has bought

it."




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