“Dolt!” rejoined Frazer, turning to Peter and the rest, “I meant that not so literally. Mark you, all rapiers are too long, an they play against the queen’s decrees, be they bodkins or the length of quarter-staffs.” And, looking at St. Magil, he smiled. “Now, meddler,” resumed Frazer, turning back to Vytal, who maintained his guard in silence, “I’ll teach you the _stoccata_, as ’tis done before the queen. The _stoccata_—’tis thus!” Whereat the youth, with a quick wrist, thrust skilfully. But his blade was parried with apparent ease. “’Slid!” he exclaimed, betraying himself yet more the braggart, as he realized the dexterity of Vytal, nevertheless a brave braggart, which is an uncommon combination. “Body o’ Cæsar! but you know the special rules! Now this, for instance, the _imbroccata_,” and he thrust again more viciously in tierce. For several minutes the rapiers crossed and recrossed, quick, slender gleams dancing in the lanthorn-light. “And this, the _punto_,” said Frazer, still persisting in his rôle of master, while Vytal, more than ten years his senior, spoke no word, but only fenced and fenced, controlling the other’s point and awaiting an opening. “And the _reverso_—there—there—there again, and the _passada_—thus—’Slud! the bodkin stitches quickly—the tool’s full of tricks—God! I’m undone—” But no, for at this instant the rapier of St. Magil came darting forward like a snake to parry the thrust from his friend’s breast, and now it was two, side by side, against the one who held the doorway. The crowd stood breathless, spellbound. Never had they seen such play of weapons. Vytal drew a dagger with his left hand; his antagonists instantly responded. But he was willing to risk that, considering the increase of his own advantage greater than the addition to theirs. And now the rapiers played, with an under meaning, as it were, in the vicious poniards. Here was a contest between men who knew the art, and lived by it, and could live by naught else now but a successful practice of their knowledge. Up and down, to and fro, the rapiers made their way, now fast, now slower, like silver moon-rays on the river below, while hither and thither, prying about for an open spot, the flat poniards ran with far more venom though less grace. And still Vytal held his ground, even gaining at the last, for St. Magil breathed heavily, and the youth beside him had gone white as death.