Suddenly he
muttered an oath as a red stain appeared on his arm. Vane had been lucky
enough to scratch him, probably more by accident than dexterity.
Dorrimore roused himself and his fencing became more vigorous. Vane was
being pressed very closely, and Dorrimore's thrusts were becoming more
and more difficult to parry. Moreover, Vane's nerves were unsteady and
his movements were flustered. The gleaming steel danced, he grew
confused, faltered, and then came a cold biting sensation in his chest,
he fell and knew no more.
"An ugly thrust, Mr. Dorrimore," growled Rofflash five minutes
afterwards. "What's to be done?"
"Is he dead?" asked Dorrimore anxiously. "I'd no intention of going as
far as that, but it was the fool's own fault. He was rushing upon me
when my point touched him. I couldn't withdraw it in time."
Rofflash, while with Marlborough's army, had acquired some rough
knowledge of surgery. His hands had gone over Vane's chest in the region
of the heart. The wound was on the right side.
"There's life left," said the captain, "but he won't last long without a
surgeon. The blade's touched the lungs, I'll swear. Look ye here, sir.
If the man dies it'll be awkward for us all round. The fight was fair
enough, but the devil only knows what a dozen fools in a jury box may
think. Besides, there's Sally--she'll have something to say, I'll
swear."
"Sally? What the deuce has she to do with us?"
"More than you think, Mr.
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