"Every man should be master of this weapon," declared the sailor when Francis, exhausted by the swift play of the blades, sank down for a few moments' rest. "Even though one be small of stature and weak of strength, dexterity with the sword may make him master of a much larger adversary. I could tell thee tales, lad, as would make thy hair to rise of the way I have seen the sword used. Have to, boy! I have but little more time to give thee. Thou art an apt scholar! So! that was a good parry. A little removing of the foot, a sudden turning of the hands, a slight declining of the body, and thine opponent is at thy mercy. So, lad, so!" [Illustration: _THE TWO WERE DEEP IN THE MYSTERIES OF FENCING_] The fencing lesson was repeated the next day. Francis no longer dreaded the meeting with Edward Devereaux, and when the night fell, she stole away to the dueling place confident that she would be the victor in the affair. There was no one at the wicket of the western gate, and she sat down to await the coming of her adversary with impatience. The broad yellow beams of the full moon lighted up the open spaces of the park with a brightness as if the sun had just set while the shadows under the trees were darker and heavier by contrast. Numerous statues gleamed in the pale light like ghosts newly risen from their sepulchres. Fountains threw jets of water into the air, caught the moonbeams, and fell again into their basins in showers of molten silver. A light breeze ruffled the leaves and came with refreshing coolness after the sultriness of the day. All was still save for the music of the night bird of song. The beauty of the scene, the melody of the nightingales, oppressed Francis with a sense of melancholy. "Am I doing aright," she said aloud. "Surely I could do naught else unless I betrayed my sex. Now the matter hath gone so far that I must bear myself as if I were in sooth a boy. But I will not kill the lad. Only make him acknowledge my skill with the deer. I would that he would come. I know not why, but I feel my courage departing from me in the loneliness of the night." At this instant, as if in answer to her wish, there was the sound of hurried footsteps, and soon the form of Edward Devereaux appeared among the trees. "I crave thy pardon, Master Stafford," he cried, "if I have kept thee waiting. Sir Christopher Hatton detained me, and I could not come sooner. Draw and defend thyself." He drew his own sword as he spoke and threw himself on guard. Without one word of reply Francis placed herself on the defensive. And then began a curious scene. Parry, thrust and parry--the steel rattled, and the strange duel was on. The nightingales ceased their singing as if amazed at the folly of the human things. The only sound that fell upon the air besides the clash of the blades was the labored breathing of the contestants. Francis' new-found knowledge stood her well in hand, and she pressed her opponent furiously. Suddenly she made a false step----