I gave ground, and he came stepping after me, his eyes glowing with assurance of victory; then trusting to his confidence to slacken his caution, and even quivering my lip in a semblance of fear, I leapt in, and pretending to stumble dropped my knife as he gripped my wrist, but catching it in my left hand struck sideways as Dirk had taught me, and felt my blade jab at his ribs as it sank into his breast. For a moment I thought my end had come. His knife was brandished high over my head, and I had no hand free to stay the impending blow. But the arm above me faltered and fell limp. The knife slipped and rattled to my feet. It bounced on the rock, rolled, and fell away over the edge to splash far down beneath me in the water. The man collapsed, a huddled bundle. But as he fell he rested his eyes on mine in such a piteous and reproachful look that I started back half conscience-stricken at my deed, and with all the hate ebbed out of my heart. So he lay, and with one ugly choke of blood was dead. Dirk stepped up and slapped me on the back, and said, "Wull, you've robbed me of my vengeance, kiddy. I wish to God he had another life. He wouldn't slip out of it with a little prick like this." And he spurned the blood-soaked corpse with his foot. "Don't, Dirk, don't!" I cried in horror. He stepped back looking amazedly at me, and saying, "Wull, strike me, Tommy! What's the game now, eh? Aren't you satisfied?" Then I think seeing the agony in my face he added, "Come Tommy, you've played fair. Thank the Almighty for staking on your side, an' me for teaching you the trick, an' yourself for learning it all so pat an' neat." But his words were lost on me; for I was gazing on the dead man's face, where death was busy smoothing out the evil lines of hate, till the lips grew gentle and the glazing eyes almost merry as though the fellow were amused at the contemplation of some hidden irony underlying the tragedy. Dirk was repeating, "It wasn't the prick of a knife he'd a got from me. Six hours. _Six hours!..._" I knew of what he was thinking, and dimly realized that although his blood was upon my hands I had saved the poor wretch from a terrible fate. And then I gave a cry, and stooped over the body, gazing deep into the eyes; for the face was the face of Picardino.