“I was anything rather than amused. I had heard of this foolish English custom of the friends also engaging. I knew that it was usual to make the offer, and that it was not needful to accept; but now, as I saw my Hugh standing ready with his sword upon the ground, I began to shake all over, and to colour. Such hath always been my habit when in danger, even from my boyhood. It is not because I am afraid. Yet, as it seems to another like fear, to feel it sets me in a cold rage, and has many times, as on this occasion, led me into extremes of rashness. “I suppose Mr. Le Clere saw my condition, and unhappily let loose on his face a faint smile. ‘At your service,’ I said, and cast off my coat. “‘It is not necessary, sir,’ he replied, a bit ashamed to engage a fellow like me, who shook and blushed, and looked to be about seventeen. “‘We are losing time,’ said I, in a fury, not over-sorry to be thus or in any way distracted from Hugh’s peril. In truth, I need have had small fear for him. For two years Hugh and I had fenced almost daily, and what with Pike and Arthur Wynne, knew most of the tricks of the small sword. “The next moment Le Clere cried, ‘On guard, gentlemen!’ and I heard the click of the blades as they met. I had my hands full, and was soon aware of Le Clere’s skill. I was, however, as agile as a cat, and he less clever with his legs than his arm. Nor do I think he desired to make the affair serious. In a few minutes--it seemed longer--I heard an oath, and, alarmed for Hugh, cast a glance in his direction. I saw his foe fall back, his sword flying some feet away. My indiscretion gave my man his chance. His blade caught in my rolled-up sleeve, bent, and, as I drove my own through his shoulder, passed clean through the left side of my neck. With a great jet of blood, I fell, and for a little knew no more.” This account from Jack’s journal is a better statement of this sad business than I could have set down. I saw with horror Jack and Le Clere salute, and then was too full of business to see more, until I had disarmed Mr. Woodville, badly wounding his sword-hand, a rare accident. And here was my Jack dead, as I thought. I think I can never forget that scene; Mr. Le Clere, gaunt and thin, lifting his late foe, the surgeon kneeling and busy, my own man hot and wrathful, cursing like mad, and wrapping his hand about with a handkerchief, clearly in pain, and I waiting for the word of death or life. At last the doctor said, “It is bad--bad, but not fatal. How came it, Le Clere? You told me that neither you nor Mr. Woodville meant anything serious.” I was kneeling by Jack, and was not intended to hear what all were too hot and excited to guard by bated breath. “Damn it, doctor!” returned Le Clere. “It is no use to talk. I never imagined that youngster would take me at my word.” “You will be in hot water here,” said the doctor. “I would advise you to get away, and soon.”