Shamed by his rival's greater show of confidence, Sir Mark made an effort over his suspicious nature, picked up Gil's sword, and, holding both by the blades as they flashed in the warm red glow of the furnace, he handed them to Gil. "Nay," he said; "measure them yourself." Gil smiled as he took the weapons, laid the blades together, and finding his own to be fully three inches the longer, he handed it by the blade to Sir Mark. "That is not my weapon," said the latter, suspiciously. "Give me my own sword, fellow." "Not I," said Gil; "mine is three inches longer in the blade, and I am not going to have it said that I killed thee by taking a foul advantage. We have no seconds, sir." Sir Mark hesitated for a few moments, and then, with the longer weapon, placed himself on guard with a good deal of the ceremony taught in the fencing-schools, while Gil quietly crossed swords with him, and the fight began. It was a curious sight in that black-floored building, lit by the ruddy glow of the charcoal-furnace, whose illuminating powers sufficed to produce a ruddy twilight--nothing more--through which the figures of the contending men could be seen in rapid motion, as their flashing blades gritted edge against edge, and passes were rapidly exchanged. Both fenced well, and at the end of a couple of minutes they fell back by mutual consent. No advantage had been obtained on either side. Each of them had, however, fully awakened to the fact that he had no contemptible enemy to deal with; and as with recovered breath they crossed swords once more it was with increased caution, and pass and parry followed with each exerting all his skill. Gil fought, in spite of his apparent calmness, with terrible fury, for he was face to face with the man whom he believed to have blasted his happiness, and three times over the keenly-pointed blade he held passed through his adversary's linen shirt, literally grazing the skin. On his own side in the dim light he had had enough to do to hold his own, for it was only by the most skilful fencing that he was able to throw aside Sir Mark's fierce thrusts, one of which inflicted a skin wound in his shoulder, and another grazed his hip. They pressed each other in turn to and fro near the furnace-mouth, where the man who faced it gained no advantage, for he was thrown up so distinctly to his adversary's view, and then back right into the gloomiest corner of the great building, where it was so dark that the danger was the same. The swords gritted and flashed once or twice, emitting faint sparks; the contending men's breath came thicker and faster as they strove on, the sweat in the heated place trickling down their faces in glittering beads; and the fight had grown furious as each, yielding to the fierce excitement of standing face to face with an enemy, strove with all his might to rob that foeman of his life.