guard, punished him severely on the nose. Both men’s blood was up now, and indeed Dick’s was showing, as it streamed from what is called, in the graceful language of the prize ring, “his smeller,” and at the sixth round the onlookers saw that the final bout would be severe. All the women were rather nervous at this savage contest, and Helena, pale as a lily at the sight of blood, was clinging to her father’s arm, inwardly breathing prayers for the success of her hero, for so she now regarded Maurice. Dick had now quite lost his head, and was quite reckless, while Maurice was as cool and calm as ever, his self-control standing him in good stead in parrying Dick’s furious onslaughts. Still the sailor managed to draw blood freely, much to the secret joy of Caliphronas, who would have liked nothing better than to see Maurice’s handsome face spoiled, when Roylands, setting his teeth like a vise, tried to close in with his opponent for the final tussle. For a minute the two men dodged rapidly, feinted, parried, sparred, and did their best to break down one another’s guard, when Dick, losing his self-control, hit out recklessly in a wild fashion, upon which Maurice sent one blow after another home like a sledge-hammer, and ended the fight with a tremendous left-hander, which levelled Dick almost insensible on the ground. Every man on the ground, aroused by the sight of blood, fairly went mad, and when Dick went off, supported by two of his messmates, wanted to carry the victor in schoolboy fashion round the ground on their shoulders, a triumph which Maurice declined, and retired to cleanse himself of blood. Long after was that fight remembered, and the local poet made a kind of Iliad out of the struggle, which was one compared to the triumph of Achilles over Hector, Maurice of course being the son of silver-footed Thetis. The sports went on during the whole of the long day, as if the competitors would never tire, and there were flat-racing, hurdle-racing, jumping, wrestling, and further boxing, until late in the afternoon. Then Gurt put his men through their cutlass drill, and Justinian manœuvred the whole male population of the island, much to his own satisfaction and that of Maurice, who saw that the Melnosians were capitally drilled. “Where did you learn all your military science?” he asked Justinian when the drill was over. “I was in the army once,” replied the old Demarch, with great pride. “What regiment, may I ask?” “I cannot tell you that yet.” “You are as mysterious as Crispin.” “There are a good many mysteries in this Island of Fantasy, Mr. Roylands,” retorted Justinian good-humoredly, “and when they are all solved, you will be surprised in more ways than one. Have you been a soldier yourself?” “No! I am a man of peace, but my Uncle Rudolph was a lieutenant in a line regiment, the —th.” “Ah, your lost uncle!” said the Demarch, with an ambiguous smile. “You must tell me your family history some day.”