“I wait here like a brigand,” he said to himself with a harsh laugh, “or a highwayman—­but he shall not pass.”

Then Sir John crossed the courtyard and came forward humming, and his Grace of Osmonde advanced and met him.

“Sir John Oxon,” he said, and stood still and made a grave bow.

John Oxon started and then stood still also, staring at him, his face flushed and malignant.  His Grace of Osmonde was it who had gazed above his head throughout the evening, when all the country world might see!

“Your Grace deigns to address me at last,” he said.

“Hitherto there has been no need that either should address the other,” answers my lord Duke in a steady voice.  “At this moment the necessity arises.  Within there”—­with a gesture—­“I heard you use a lady’s name impudently.  Earlier in the evening I also chanced to hear you so use it; I was in the ball-room.  So I remained behind and waited to have speech with you.  Do not speak it again in like manner.”

“Must I not!” said Sir John, his blue eyes glaring.  “On Clo Wildairs’s name was set no embargo, God knows.  Is there a reason why a man should be squeamish of a sudden over my Lady Dunstanwolde’s?  ’Tis but the difference of a title and an old husband.”

“And of a man made her kinsman by marriage,” said my lord Duke, “who can use a sword.”

“Let him use it, by God!” cried Sir John, and insensate with rage he laid his hand upon his own as if he would draw it.

“He will use it and is prepared to do so, or he would not be here,” the Duke answered.  “We are not two Mohocks brawling in the streets, but two gentlemen, one of whom must give a lesson to the other.  Would you have witnesses?”

“Curse it, I care for none!” flamed Sir John.  “Let the best man give his lesson now.  ’Tis not this night alone I would be even for.”

The Duke measured him from head to foot, in every inch of sinew.

“I am the better man,” he said; “I tell you beforehand.”

Sir John flung out a jeering laugh.

“Prove it,” he cried. “Prove it.  Now is your time.”

“There is open moor a short distance away,” says his Grace.  “Shall we go there?”

So they set out, walking side by side, neither speaking a word.  The night was still and splendid, and just upon its turn; the rich dark-blue of the Heavens was still hung with the spangles of the stars, but soon they would begin to dim, and the deepness of the blue to pale for dawn.  A scented freshness was in the air, and was just stirring with that light faint wind which so often first foretells the coming of the morning.  When, in but a few minutes, the two men stood stript of their upper garments to their shirts, the open purple heath about them, the jewelled sky above, this first fresh scent of day was in their lungs and nostrils.  That which stirred John Oxon to fury and at the same time shook his nerve, though