For a second he saw nothing else than this crowning justification for hatred and suspicion, and then became aware that Diana, her hands and feet bound, lay on the sofa behind. Like lightning his sword flashed from the sheath and he advanced on Baltimore. “Liar! Villain!” He said no more, for his enemy’s sword leaped to meet his, and the two clashed in air as each man put himself in the fighting posture. “Twice you’ve insulted me. It’s death for you or me!” cries Baltimore, and then, their teeth grinding, their eyes wild with hate, the battle began. The woman’s voice, for she could move neither hand nor foot, came between them. “Your Grace— You’re mistook. O, cease—cease. He did not bring me here. He did not bind me. O, hear me, I beseech.” She wept and entreated, but still the fierce swords thrust and parried. As soon stop a tiger in his leap. “A hit!” cries the Duke, red for joy and fury,—his sword had slipt through Baltimore’s right arm,—the springing blood dyed the gay velvet and gold. He raised it frantically and thrust once more at Bolton, but his heart was stronger than his arm. It dropt and the sword fell clashing on the floor useless as a child’s toy. In bitter rage and shame he flung himself into a chair and covered his eyes with the other. “Liar! Coward!—Trapper of women, you have your deserts,” says Bolton, in a voice the more awful because low as a woman’s. He turned then to Diana almost fainting on the sofa. “Madam, I can’t decipher the story, but I know you pure as light. Have patience till I unbind you.” He knelt by her, with gentle and skilful hands unknotting the cruel bandages that had left great marks about her wrists and feet. He supported her in his arms, and, white as a ghost at cockcrow, she sat up leaning perforce upon his shoulder, half-dead from terror and long fasting. “Don’t speak!” he said tenderly. “Rest. ’Tis all over now, and you are safe. I beseech you, don’t speak.” “But I must speak! O hear me, I implore you. This gentleman is innocent. He came but ten minutes since and would have released me. Indeed ’tis true, your Grace. ’Twas Walker and Mrs. Bishop misused me. I have told his Lordship that I have been bound here all night and this day. O let me rise that I may bind his arm. Look how he bleeds.” “If his attention is more welcome to you than mine——.” The Duke was stiff and haughty once more, bewildered to the last degree. “Pray, Madam, incommode not yourself for me. ’Tis but a scratch. A flesh wound!” cries Baltimore. “Curse the blood! Reach me that bandage, my Lord Duke.” His Grace pushed it with his foot and a look of scathing contempt. My Lord picked it up and kissing it with gallantry because it had bound Diana’s wrists, proceeded to knot it, one-handed and holding it in his teeth as best he could.