Meanwhile he pressed Sir Terence towards the side where the
moonlight would strike first, until they were fighting close under
the windows of the residential wing, Sir Terence with his back to
them, Samoval facing them. It was Fate that placed them so, the
Fate that watched over Sir Terence even now when he felt his
strength failing him, his sword arm turning to lead under the strain
of an unwonted exercise. He knew himself beaten, realised the
dexterous ease, the masterly economy of vigour and the deadly
sureness of his opponent's play. He knew that he was at the mercy
of Samoval; he was even beginning to wonder why the Count should
delay to make an end of a situation of which he was so completely
master. And then, quite suddenly, even as he was returning thanks
that he had taken the precaution of putting all his affairs in order,
something happened.
A light showed; it flared up suddenly, to be as suddenly extinguished,
and it had its source in the window of Lady O'Moy's dressing-room,
which Samoval was facing.
That flash drawing off the Count's eyes for one instant, and leaving
them blinded for another, had revealed him clearly at the same time
to Sir Terence. Sir Terence's blade darted in, driven by all that
was left of his spent strength, and Samoval, his eyes unseeing, in
that moment had fumbled widely and failed to find the other's steel
until he felt it sinking through his body, searing him from breast
to back.
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