"A light--let me find a lamp--please Heaven it may not be too late, and these hot heads slaughter each other while I am gone," was what she cried. No one noticed her disappearance through the door where hung the Bagdad curtains, for both of the gentlemen had their attention fully occupied in another quarter. When a ferocious old military hero with all his long pent-up love for bloody scenes bursting forth is diligently thrusting right and left with a keen pointed sword, his eagerness increasing with each and every defeat of his plans, there is little chance to observe what may be passing even in the confines of the same apartment. That was Roderic's condition. True, he considered himself in no actual danger, unless from an accidental thrust, but all the same the valorous old don was sending them in at white heat, and as the gloaming made it difficult to see with exactness, there was need of great caution. The sparks flew whenever the hostile blades struck violently together, and taken altogether it was about as pretty and interesting a picture as one would wish to see. When he found his favorite blows turned aside with so masterly a hand, the general's rage began to partially give way to admiration, for he was an ardent lover of fine sword play no matter where found, in Arab, Moor or Cossack. He still continued to bellow, for it was a part of his nature to do so, but mingled with his furious phrases were cries that betokened amazement, delight, suspicion. Perhaps he recognized something familiar about the method employed by his antagonist in defending himself. Swordsmen have their peculiar tactics or individualities, that crop out strongly, and doubtless in the good old days when Senor Owen was a welcome visitor at the hacienda of Don Porfidio the two may have crossed blades occasionally, if only to illustrate some point in a story. In due time the Porto Rican must have puzzled out the solution of the mystery. He was not given time just now. Roderic, finding that the other was making a most wicked series of lunges at his heart, and fearful lest some accident might occur that would place him at the mercy of Don Porfidio, concluded to wind up the matter in a manner that was more to his liking. So he let loose a few cards which he had, figuratively speaking, been holding up his sleeve--in other words he let out an extra supply of ability and forced the fighting. It was all up with the general. He knew full well he was in the hands of a master, and that while the duel was fated to be cut as short as he wished, the outcome might hardly be to his liking. The old don had been over confident, and he now fell into something like a panic. True, he battled on with just as much vim as before, but desperation nerved his arm rather than the old time enthusiasm. When Roderic discovered his chance he whipped the other's supple blade out of his nerveless hand with consummate ease. Don Porfidio uttered a cry of rage and stupefaction.