He played with me thus for a time which seemed an eternity. My breath began to come in great gasps. Suddenly he lunged at me with all his strength, throwing the full weight of his body recklessly behind his stroke, so sure was he, evidently, that it would find its mark. I sprang aside just in time, bringing my broadsword down on his rapier and sending six inches of the point of it clattering to the floor. "Damn the thing!" he blustered, taking a firmer grip of what steel remained in his hand. "Aren't you satisfied? Won't you stop this madness?" I panted, my voice sounding loud and hollow in the stillness around us. For answer he grazed my cheek with his jagged steel, letting a little more blood and hurting sufficiently to cause me to wince. "Got you again, you see," he chuckled, pushing up his sleeves and pulling his tie straight. "George, dear boy, I'll have you in mincemeat before I get at any of your well-covered vitals." A blind fury seized me. I drove in on him. He turned me aside with a grin and thrust heavily at me in return. I darted to the left, making no endeavour to push aside his weapon with my own but relying only on the agility of my body. With an oath, he floundered forward, and before he could recover I brought the flat of my heavy broadsword crashing down on the top of his head. His arm went up with a nervous jerk and his rapier flew from his hand, shattering against a high window and sending the broken glass rattling on to the cement walk below. Harry sagged to the floor like a sack of flour and lay motionless on his face, his arms and legs spread out like a spider's. I was bending down to turn him over, when I heard my father's voice on the other side of the door. "Stand back! I'll see to this," he cried, evidently addressing the frightened servants. I turned round. The door swung on its immense hinges and my father stood there, with staring eyes and pallid face, taking in the situation deliberately, looking from me to Harry's inert body beside which I knelt. Slowly he came into the centre of the room. Full of anxiety, I looked at him. But there was no opening in that stern, old face for any explanations. He did not assail me with a torrent of words nor did he burst into a paroxysm of grief and anger. His every action was calculated, methodical, remorseless. He turned to the open door. "Go!" he commanded sternly. "Leave us,--leave Brammerton. I never wish to see you again. You are no son of mine." His words seared into me. I held out my hands. "Go!" he repeated quietly, but, if anything, more firmly. "Good God! father,--won't you hear what I have to say in explanation?" I cried in vexatious desperation. He did not answer me except with his eyes--those eyes which could say so much.