As the fighting man of Whitechapel exclaimed “Time!” Rivera and he drew cautiously over to one another. I could see how each kept his left hand well forward and his left foot advanced to bear it company, while the right foot was planted with firm squareness, and no spring nor give to the knee, but the leg stiff to prop against a blow. The right arm would be used, too, more as a guard to save the body, but with hand in reserve clenched like iron to deal a finishing blow whenever the vanguard or left hand had opened the way with the enemy. Rivera and the fighting man sparred carefully and as folk who would test each other. And yet, while there abode with each a wealth of care and a saving determination to be sure of guards and parries, there was no slowness. They paced about and before one another like two fighting panthers, each as ready as leven-flash to have advantage of a weakness in the other's defence. To me it was like a picture of motion, and a sense of delight coursed in my veins. I was so held, too, I did not once cast my eyes on Peg, who with her hand on my arm was crowded snug to my side and--as I remembered later, when I would learn the reason of pain for it--leaning upon me with all her slight weight. No, so rapt was my gaze for the moment that I never once looked nor thought on Peg; and that, let me tell you, is a deal to say, since such was our witch-child's sweet hold on me I could number you few moments which did not find her in the fond foreground of my fancy. Of the suddenest, the fighting man fell upon Rivera like a storm. But it would be of no avail. The blows he dealt, Rivera caught upon his forearm; and that with so careless a confidence it would appear to sting the other. In the last of the melee the fighting man, stepping swiftly near, struck a slashing, swinging blow that should have cracked a skull had one gotten in the way. Rivera leaped back, light as a goat and as sure. As the big fist swept harmlessly on its journey, Rivera laughed as at a jest. Our fighting man, however, would own to no turn for humor. The laugh hurt him like the lash of a rawhide. Without pause or space, and with a sharpness that stood a marvel in one so bulky, he repeated the smashing swing, but with the other hand. Rivera did not spring backward; indeed, he had no time, even had he carried the inclination. But it would be all one with Noah's protege, for he ducked his head like a wild fowl who dives from the flash of a gun. Again the blow passed without scathe; only, this time, over Rivera's cunning head. The force of the swing half turned the fighting man; with that, and not striking him, but, as though in a spirit of derision, pushing with open hand, and at the same moment locking, as wrestlers would say, the enemy's ankle at the back with his foot, Rivera tumbled our huge gentleman over on the grass. He fell a-sprawl, but with no hurt to himself, and all as easy as delivering a bale of goods at one's door.