That done, however, he did not immediately fall on.
"In a few minutes the moon will be more obliging," he suggested.
"If you would prefer to wait - "
But it occurred to Sir Terence that in the gloom the advantage might
lie slightly with himself, since the other's superior sword-play
would perhaps be partly neutralised. He cast a last look round at
the dark windows.
"I find it light enough," he answered.
Samoval's reply was instantaneous. "On guard, then," he cried,
and on the words, without giving Sir Terence so much as time to
comply with the invitation, he whirled his point straight and
deadly at the greyish outline of his opponent's body. But a ray
of moonlight caught the blade and its livid flash gave Sir Terence
warning of the thrust so treacherously delivered. He saved himself
by leaping backwards - just saved himself with not an inch to spare
- and threw up his blade to meet the thrust.
"Ye murderous villain," he snarled under his breath, as steel ground
on steel, and he flung forward to the attack.
But from the gloom came a little laugh to answer him, and his angry
lunge was foiled by an enveloping movement that ended in a ripost.
With that they settled down to it, Sir Terence in a rage upon which
that assassin stroke had been fresh fuel; the Count cool and
unhurried, delaying until the moonlight should have crept a little
farther, so as to enable him to make quite sure that his stroke when
delivered should be final.
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