'He was at a disadvantage, though, for he didn't want to hurt her badly, being a woman, so he tries to disarm her, and give her some slight wound on the sword arm, or high in "quatre" or "tierce." 'That was no good, as I could have told him nicely, for she had the strongest and supplest wrist of any woman ever I saw, and forbye that, disarming can only be done by taking your opponent unawares, and she kenned nicely what he was after. 'Then sudden he gies it up, seeing the uselessness o't, and tries a brute strength game, waits his chance till he can lift up her blade, and then thrusts sideways so as to pink her high in the shoulder, but she twists aside and it only just touches her through the sleeve. "First blood!" he shouts triumphantly, "the stakes are mine," with a low bow and a sweep o' the sword arm. "Phit!" she cries passionately; "it's only a scratch," and she comes again at him with a bound. 'Then he loses his temper a bit, I think, for his own sword arm was bleeding, as I knew well, for I saw a drop or two of blood on the floor and his hand was crimson forbye. So he comes to meet her, quickly driving her back in turn, plying his rapier this way and that fiercely, just missing her by a hair's breadth to frighten her, till he could have her at his mercy, and then he tries a "cut-over" in "tierce," swift as a meteor, pressing his "fort" strongly against her "foible," and would have been home sure as fate had not his foot slipped on a drop of blood on the floor. Up flies his rapier idly--she with a sudden flip tosses it higher still, and with a leap, by Gox! she ran him through in "seconde"--just above his right hip. '"Hurroo!" shouts I, through my handkerchief and all. "Clever, clever!" for it was splendidly done--scientific, exact, just perfection. 'There Sir Henry lay in a swoon upon the floor, for no doubt the pain and the shock together would be immense, while my mistress, she just takes one look at him, then wipes her rapier swift upon her handkerchief, takes up Sir Henry's also, and places them against the rack in the armoury, takes down two foils, throws one on the floor, breaks the other in two and flings the pieces down beside its fellow. Then swift as ever she goes to the mantelpiece, takes up the bundle of letters and chucks them into the fire. 'She watches them burn for a moment, then presses the electric bell close by, and just as John the footman walks in at the door Sir Henry comes to himself, and lifts himself up on to his elbow off the floor. '"Help Sir Henry Oxencourt up to his room," says she, cool as a cucumber, "and tell Carruthers to attend to him, and to send for the doctor, if necessary. A foil broke as we fenced, and Sir Henry, I fear, has suffered through the accident."