"Mark me, sir. An the advantage be mine, you shall have your choice of meeting death by my hand presently, or on the gallows some few weeks hence. If, on the other hand, the victory fall to you, you will doubtless use the opportunity to regain your freedom, and since my life must go bail for your safe-keeping, I claim the right to a similar choice. If you refuse these conditions I must withdraw the privilege I would confer." "Have it as you will." cried the prisoner impatiently. "Draw then, and defend yourself." They took their positions and the blades crossed. After the first few passes a look of surprise crept into Captain Protheroe’s eyes as he realised his adversary’s skill. He, himself, had studied the art in many countries, and knew that few swordsmen in England were his equal, yet he found this youth no mean opponent. From the outset he felt no doubt of the result—a skilled swordsman soon gauges the extent of his adversary’s powers. As for the prisoner, after the first fierce attack his fury subsided, and he steadied himself to parry with eager watchfulness the captain’s point. His eye was quick, his wrist supple, and he was well practised in the art. But he lacked strength. Slowly he was driven backward, backward, across the room, till at length he was fighting with his foot pressed against the wall. Even then he showed no fear, nor relaxed for an instant his resolute defence. Suddenly the captain’s wrist seemed to relax its merciless strain and with a quick movement the prisoner had twisted the blade from his grasp and it flew with a clatter among the furniture of the room. Captain Protheroe clasped his hands behind his back, and fixing his eyes full on his opponent’s face waited what should follow. The prisoner stood for a space staring at him in silence, the expression of his face changing from astonishment to triumph, from triumph to deep dismay. Then he dropped the point of his rapier and turned away. [Illustration: "HE DROPPED THE POINT OF HIS RAPIER AND TURNED AWAY"] "’Tis enough, I am satisfied." "But pardon me, sir, I am not," answered Captain Protheroe drily. "Methinks you have forgotten my stipulation." The prisoner bit his lip and answered coldly: "I do not choose to comply with it; nor do I hold with such folly." "’Tis a pity you did not express that opinion before, sir. Yet there remains no choice for you. I prefer death by the sword to death by the scaffold. I am ready. You will therefore carry out our contract at once, or forfeit all claim to be counted a man of honour." The prisoner flushed angrily and once more raised his rapier. But meeting the quiet smile and steady gaze of his opponent he dropped the weapon upon the table and turned away. "You must wait. I cannot kill you now." "Your reason, sir?" "I—I am not in a killing humour." Captain Protheroe’s lips twitched, but he answered gravely: "Then may I beg you, sir, to overcome your humour without delay."