"Accursed spy and traitor," cried Mompesson, as he took hold of the body by the heels and dragged it to one corner--"thou wilt never betray me more. What brought thee here I know not, unless it were to meet the death thou hast merited at my hands. Would a like chance might bring Osmond Mounchensey here--and alone--I would desire nothing more." "Be thy wish gratified then!" cried a voice, which Mompesson could not mistake. Looking up, he beheld his enemy. In an instant his hand was upon his sword, and the blade gleamed in the lamp-light. Osmond had likewise plucked forth his rapier, and held a poignard in his left hand. For a few moments they gazed at each other with terrible looks, their breasts animated with an intensity of hatred which only mortal foes, met under such circumstances, can feel. So fiercely bloodthirsty were their looks that their disfigured features seemed to have lost all traces of humanity. "Yield thee, murtherous villain," cried Osmond at length. "I will drag thee to the hangman." "Call in thy fellows, and thou shalt see whether I will yield," rejoined Mompesson, with a laugh of defiance. "I have none at my back," rejoined Osmond; "I will force thee to follow me alone!" "Thou _art_ alone then!" roared Mompesson; "that is all I desired!" And, without a word more, he commenced the attack. During the brief colloquy just detailed, he had noticed that his enemy was doubly armed, and before beginning the conflict he drew his own dagger, so that there was no greater advantage on one side than the other. Both were admirable swordsmen, and in strength they were nearly matched; but the combat was conducted with a ferocity that almost set skill at defiance. After the exchange of a few desperate passes, they closed; and in the terrific struggle that ensued the lamp was extinguished. The profound darkness prevented them from seeing the frightful wounds they inflicted on each other; but both knew they were severely hurt, though each hoped he was not so much injured as his adversary. Exhausted, at length, by loss of blood, and ready to drop, they released each other by mutual consent; and, after making a few more feeble and ineffectual thrusts, leaned upon their swords for support. "Wilt thou yield now, villain?" demanded Osmond, in a hoarse voice. "Or must I finish thee outright?" "Finish me!" echoed Mompesson, in tones equally hoarse. "Strike another blow against me if thou canst. But I well know thou art sped. When I have recovered breath, I will make short work with thee." "About it quickly, then," rejoined Osmond: "I am ready for thee. But thy boast was idle. Thou art bleeding to death. Twice has my poignard pierced thy breast." "Thou wilt never use thy poignard again. Thy left arm is disabled," rejoined Mompesson--"besides, my sword passed through thee almost to the hilt." "It glanced from my doublet: I scarcely felt the scratch."