"Yes, thanks to my leather-covered note-book, which turned your steel aside," replied Howard. "But I will waste no more words with you," he added, significantly. "You tried to swear my life away, and now you must take the consequences." "I am well able to take care of myself," sneered Captain Nocolo. He was, as Estella had intimated, a skilful swordsman, and he imagined that the young war correspondent knew little of the handling of a blade. Howard's use of the foils at college now stood him in good stead. He was out of practice, but realizing that it was a matter of life or death, he was watchful to prevent his antagonist from getting the better of him. Click! clash! click! The swords crossed and recrossed each other with lightning-like rapidity, making the sparks fly, and causing Estella to stand by in silent terror, while praying mentally that Howard might come out of the contest unharmed. She wanted to rush at the captain, but her lover skilfully placed himself between them as he maneuvered about to strike a telling blow. "Ha! take that!" suddenly hissed Captain Nocolo, and quick as a flash his sword punctured Howard's side, close under the right arm. Howard uttered a cry and staggered, but did not fall. "Murderer!" screamed Estella. "You knew he was not your equal." "He brought it upon himself!" muttered the captain. "The conceit of these Americans----" "Defend yourself!" put in Howard, as he leaped forward again, a new light shining in his glittering eyes. Click! clash! fell his sword so heavily that the captain's guard was beaten down. A second later and the young war correspondent's blade struck the captain's neck, inflicting a deep cut, and causing the Spaniard to throw up both arms and stagger to the bed, there to fall unconscious. A moment of intense silence followed, then Howard dropped his gory blade, and turned to Estella. She rushed to him and threw herself in his arms. "Oh, Howard!" was all she could say, and shuddered as she buried her face upon his shoulder. "I had to do it, Estella," he said. "It was his life or mine." "Is he--he dead?" she whispered. "I think not. A wound of that sort is rarely mortal. But he needs medical assistance." As Howard spoke he heard footsteps on the stairs. He walked to the doorway and met the old man, Antonio, staggering up, his head swathed in a bandage. "The captain----" began the old fellow, but Howard out him short. "Get cloths and bind up his wounds, and send for an army surgeon," he commanded. "I don't care to have the rascal's blood on my head," he added to the trembling girl at his side. "No, no, Howard; and yet he deserves what he got," murmured Estella. "Oh, how thankful I am that you came when you did!" and she shuddered once more as she thought of the perils she had escaped.