Her eyes had followed his. She ran forward to the wall and threw up her hands against it. “Oh Morris,” she said distractedly, “they have taken the swords!” Then she went past him swiftly through the panel and the outer door. She glanced around quickly, running, as she did so, with a kind of blind instinct towards the clump of firs. Presently she saw a little stream of light in the trees. Always a creature of abundant energy and sprightliness, she swept through the night, from the comedy behind to the tragedy in front; the grey starlight falling about her white dress and making her hair seem like a cloud behind her as she ran. Suddenly she came in on the two sworders with a scared, transfigured face. Iberville had his man at an advantage, and was making the most of it when she came in at an angle behind the other, and the sight of her stayed his arm. It was but for a breath, but it served. Gering had not seen, and his sword ran up Iberville’s arm, making a little trench in the flesh. She ran in on them from the gloom, saying in a sharp, aching voice: “Stop, stop! Oh, what madness!” The points dropped and they stepped back. She stood between them, looking from one to the other. At that moment Morris burst in also. “In God’s name,” he said, “is this your honouring of the king’s governor! Ye that have eat and drunk at his table the night! Have ye nae sense o’ your manhood, young gentlemen, that for a mad gossip ower the wine ye wend into the dark to cut each other’s throats? Think--think shame, baith o’ ye, being as ye are of them that should know better.” Gering moodily put on his coat and held his peace. Iberville tossed his sword aside, and presently wrung the blood from his white sleeve. The girl saw him, and knew that he was wounded. She snatched a scarf from her waist and ran towards him. “You are wounded,” she said. “Oh, take this!” “I am so much sorry, indeed,” he answered coolly, winding the scarf about his arm. “Mistress Leveret came too soon.” His face wore a peculiar smile, but his eyes burned with anger; his voice was not excited. Immediately, however, as he looked at Jessica, his mood seemed to change. “Morris,” he said, “I am sorry. Mademoiselle,” he added, “pardon! I regret whatever gives you pain.” Gering came near to her, and Iberville could see that a flush stole over Jessica’s face as he took her hand and said: “I am sorry--that you should have known.” “Good!” said Iberville, under his breath. “Good! he is worth fighting again.” A moment afterwards Morris explained to them that if the matter could be hushed he would not impart it to the governor--at least, not until Iberville had gone. Then they all started back towards the house. It did not seem incongruous to Iberville and Gering to walk side by side; theirs was a superior kind of hate. They paused outside the door, on Morris’s hint, that he might see if the coast was clear, and return the swords to their place on the wall.