Emily had crossed over to the piano, and sitting behind it with her eyes fixed upon the combatants, began to play a low drumming strain of Bacchic fury in the pause preluding the game. Fierce, monotonous and dreamful, a congeries of bass tones swarming grumly from the keys, with low minor notes faintly chirping at intervals between, it suddenly rang up, pierced with one sharp tingling treble, like a cry, as with a loud clash of the foils, the agile and vivid figure of Muriel darted forward in a superb lunge. Harrington uttered a low ejaculation, for the thrust had nearly reached him, and he had parried in the compass of a ring. Muriel stood on guard again, her gold and crimson tremulously glowing and flashing in the sun, and her bright plume dancing, while the dark and furious music, swarming and drumming loudly from the bass keys, sunk away into the low, monotonous and dreamful strain, with the chirping notes still fluttering and sounding in. It did not rise again, but ran sombrely swarming on, as Harrington reached in his long arm in a quick and quiet lunge, which was deftly parried with only a faint clink of the foils, and then, with another splendid flash of glitter and color, Muriel sprang, lunging nimbly home, and clash on clash, with a rapturous clamor of steel, came pass and parry on either side, while the hurrying music rose and rang in whirling riot, like a wild, tumultuous race of Mænads, with heavy bars of thunderous sound striking through the loud, triumphant swarming fury of the melody. Clash and flash, amidst the strumming whirl and anvil blows of the melodious choral, flew the bright foils, and stamp and tramp, advancing and retreating, sinking and rising, low to the lunge, and high to the parry, swayed and darted the lords of the fairy duel—Muriel’s crimson feather tossing and dancing in time to the gathering and racing of the music, like a delirious sprite of combat. Suddenly—snap—jingle—the contest ceased, and the music flittered off into a light and brilliant strain, like the tinkling laughter of elves. Harrington stood with a dazed air, looking at the fragment of the foil he held, the rest of which lay on the floor. Muriel broke into a merry peal of laughter, in which Wentworth and her mother joined, while Emily, still playing, smiled indolently over the piano. “Plague!” exclaimed Harrington. “That’s the second foil I’ve seen broken to-day. They make these things miserably bad.” “It’s the last pair we have, so that ends our fun for this day,” cried Muriel, taking the gilt mask from her bright, flushed face. “Serves me right for not always having half a dozen sets on hand, a thing I’ll do in future.” “By Jupiter!” exclaimed Wentworth, while Muriel crossed to hang up her mask and foil, “that was tall fencing, while it lasted, anyhow. I’m sorry the foil’s broken, Muriel, for I wanted to fence with the fairy prince myself.”