I was awkward in helping Tom off with
his outer clothes. The moonlight, making everything in the hollow
well-nigh as visible as by day, showed Tom's face to be white, his
eyes wide-open and darkly radiant; while in Falconer's case it
revealed a countenance as pleasant and gracious as ever, eyes neither
set nor restless.
Campbell and I perfunctorily compared the swords, gave them a bend or
two, and handed them to the principals. We then stood back. Doctor
McLaughlin looked on with a mild interest. There was a low cry, a ring
of steel, and the two men were at it.
I recall the moonshine upon their faces, the swift dartings of their
faintly luminous blades, their strangely altering shadows on the snow
as they moved, the steady attention of us who looked on, the moan of
the wind among the trees upon the neighbouring heights, the sound of
the men's tramping on the crusted snow, the clear clink of their
weapons, sometimes the noise of their breathing. They eyed each other
steadfastly, seeming to grudge the momentary winks enforced by nature.
Falconer's purpose, I began to see, was but to defend himself and
disarm his opponent. But Tom gave him much to do, making lightning
thrusts with a suddenness and persistence that began at length to try
the elder man. So they kept it up till I should have thought they were
tired out.
Suddenly Tom made a powerful lunge that seemed to find the captain
unready.
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