He made no attempt to wound me slightly, but sought with the vindictiveness of passion to get through my guard and thrust his blade into my heart. My fighting was all defensive; and after a short time my tactics evidently puzzled him. He thought my object was to wear him down. This cooled him, and he began to fight much more warily and cautiously, and with far less waste of energy and strength.
The first point fell to me, partly by accident. Making an over-zealous thrust at my body, which I parried with some difficulty, he came upon my sword point, which just touched his body and drew blood. The seconds interfered; his wound was examined and found to be slight, and we were ordered to re-engage.
In the second bout he changed his tactics, and again attacked me with great impetuosity. The result was what might have been expected. He gave me more than one chance which I could have taken with deadly effect; and when he saw that I did not—for he fenced well enough to understand this—I saw him smile sardonically. He might well wonder why I should wish to spare him. But each time Christina's words were before my eyes and ringing in my ears, and, bitterly though I hated him, I dared not, and would not, kill him. Then he wounded me. He thought he had found the opportunity he sought, and his eyes gleamed viciously as he lunged desperately at my heart. I parried the stroke, but not sufficiently, for I felt his sword enter my side, and for a moment I thought all was over.
But when the fight was stopped for the second time it was found that the blow had gone home too high, and had pierced the flesh above the heart, and close under the shoulder. The blood made a brave show,
