But now when he came down to slow, skilful fence I found my real danger. We were well matched, as had been proved in many a harmless encounter on the turf by the Tweed. I was something lighter, he somewhat stronger in the arm and firmer in the body; but taking us all in all we were as equal a pair as ever crossed swords. And now there was an utter silence; even the birds on the trees seemed to have ceased. The others no longer talked. The sharp clatter and ring of the swords had gone, and in its place was a deadly _swish—swish_, which every man who has heard it dreads, for it means that each stroke grazes the vitals. I would have given much in that hour for another inch to my arm. I put forth all my skill of fence. All that I had learned from Tam Todd, all that I had found out by my own wits was present to me; but try as I would, and I warrant you I tried my utmost, I could not overreach my opponent. Yet I fenced steadily, and if I made no progress, I did not yield my ground. With Gilbert the case was otherwise. His play was the most brilliant I had ever seen, full of fantastic feints and flourishes such as is the French fashion. But I could not think that a man could last for ever in this style, since for one stroke of my arm there were two of his and much leaping from place to place. But beyond doubt he pressed me close. Again and again I felt his steel slipping under my guard, and it was only by a violent parry that I escaped. One stroke had cut open my sleeve and grazed my arm, but beyond this no one of us had suffered hurt. But soon a thing which I had scarcely foreseen began to daunt me. I was placed facing the east, and the rising sun began to catch my eyes. The ground was my own choosing, so my ill-luck was my own and no fault of Gilbert’s. But it soon began to interfere heavily with my play. I could only stand on guard. I dared not risk a bold stroke, lest, my eyes being dazzled by the light, I should miscalculate the distance. I own I began to feel a spasm of fear. More than one of my opponent’s strokes came within perilous nearness. The ground too was not firm, and my foot slid once and again when I tried to advance. To add to it all there was Gilbert’s face above the point of the swords, cold, scornful, and triumphant. I began to feel incredibly weak about the small of the back, and I suppose my arm must have wavered, for in guarding a shoulder-cut I dropped my point, and my enemy’s blade scratched my left arm just above the elbow. I staggered back with the shock of the blow, and my cousin had a moment’s breathing-space. I was so obviously the loser in the game, that Gilbert grew merry at my expense. "Well, John," he cried, "does’t hurt thee? My arm is somewhat rougher than Marjory’s."