A gasp of admiration went up from the crowd.
My lord's rapier was out, the hand that held it shaking with
passion. I had my blade in my hand, but the point was upon the
ground. "I'll lesson you, you madman!" he said thickly. Suddenly,
without any warning, he thrust at me; had he been less blind with
rage, the long score which each was to run up against the other
might have ended where it began. I swerved, and the next instant
with my own point sent his rapier whirling. It fell at the Governor's
feet.
"Your lordship may pick it up," I remarked. "Your grasp is as firm
as your honor, my lord."
He glared at me, foam upon his lips. Men were between us now, -
the Governor, Francis West, Master Pory, Hamor, Wynne, - and a
babel of excited voices arose. The diversion I had aimed to make
had been made with a vengeance. West had me by the arm. "What
a murrain is all this coil about, Ralph Percy? If you hurt hair of his
head, you are lost!"
The favorite broke from the Governor's detaining hand and
conciliatory speech.
"You'll fight, sir?" he cried hoarsely.
"You know that I need not now, my lord," I answered.
He stamped upon the ground with rage and shame; not true shame
for that foul thrust, but shame for the sword upon the grass, for
that which could be read in men's eyes, strive to hide it as they
might, for the open scorn upon one face.
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