To return to the combatants. The passionate encounter absorbed all my
attention. Mohun and Darke were cutting at each other furiously. They
seemed equally matched, and the result was doubtful. One thing only
seemed certain--that in a few minutes one of the adversaries would be
dead.
Such was the situation of affairs when shots were heard without, the
clash of sabres followed, and the door behind Darke was burst open
violently by his orderly, who rushed in, exclaiming:--
"Look out, colonel! The enemy are on you!"
As he uttered these words, the man drew a revolver and aimed at Mohun's
breast.
Before he could fire, however, an explosion was heard, and I saw the
man suddenly drop his weapon, which went off as it escaped from his
nerveless grasp. Then he threw up his hands, reeled, took two uncertain
steps backward, and fell at full length on the floor. Nighthawk had
shot him through the heart.
All this had taken place in far less time than it has taken to write
it. I had made violent efforts to break through the window; and finding
this impossible, now ran to the door and burst into the apartment.
The singular scene was to have as singular a denouement.
Darke evidently realized the great danger which he ran, for the house
was now surrounded, nearly, and his capture was imminent.
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