Sir Reginald's eyes blazed. His sword started from its scabbard. "Defend yourself!" he exclaimed, furiously attacking Vavasour. Pass after pass was exchanged. Fierce thrusts were made and parried. Feint and appeal, the most desperate and dexterous, were resorted to. Their swords glanced like lightning flashes. In the struggle, the blades became entangled. There was a moment's cessation. Each glanced at the other with deadly, inextinguishable hate. Both were admirable masters of the art of defence. Both were so brimful of wrath as to be regardless of consequences. They tore back their weapons. Vavasour's blade shivered. He was at the mercy of his adversary--an adversary who knew no mercy. Sir Reginald passed his rapier through his brother's body. The hilt struck against his ribs. Sir Reginald's ire was kindled, not extinguished, by the deed he had done. Like the tiger, he had tasted blood--like the tiger, he thirsted for more. He sought his home. He was greeted by his wife. Terrified by his looks, she yet summoned courage sufficient to approach him. She embraced his arm--she clasped his hand. Sir Reginald smiled. His smile was cutting as his dagger's edge. "What ails you, sweetheart?" said he. "I know not; your smile frightens me." "My smile frightens you--fool! be thankful that I frown not." "Oh! do not frown. Be gentle, my Reginald, as you were when first I knew you. Smile not so coldly, but as you did then, that I may, for one instant, dream you love me." "Silly wench! There--I _do_ smile." "That smile freezes me. Oh, Reginald, could you but know what I have endured this morning, on your account. My brother Lionel has been here." "Indeed!" "Nay, look not so. He insisted on knowing the reason of my altered appearance." "And no doubt you made him acquainted with the cause. You told him _your_ version of the story." "Not a word, as I hope to live." "A lie!" "By my truth, no." "A lie, I say. He avouched it to me himself." "Impossible! He could not--would not disobey me." Sir Reginald laughed bitterly. "He would not, I am sure, give utterance to any scandal," continued Lady Rookwood. "You say this but to try me, do you not?--ha! what is this? Your hand is bloody. You have not harmed him? Whose blood is this?" "Your brother spat upon my check. I have washed out the stain," replied Sir Reginald, coldly. "Then it _is_ his blood!" shrieked Lady Rookwood, pressing her hand shuddering before her eyes. "Is he dead?" Sir Reginald turned away.