It took them no longer than twenty minutes to reach the place in the road where Tyburn Brook ran under a little stone bridge—and looking off toward the east they could dimly see a party of men and several horses, half obscured by a spacious group of Lombardy poplars. Amber immediately turned her horse and started toward them. Presently she could distinguish Bruce and Rex, Almsbury, Colonel Dillon whom she knew slightly, and two others who were apparently the surgeons. But only Bruce and Rex had removed their outer coats, to show that no armour had been worn.
At the sound of horses’ hoofs pounding across the field they all turned; it was not uncommon for a party to be sent to stop such meetings. But as Amber pulled on her reins and they saw who it was Bruce looked quickly away—though not before she had seen the angry annoyance on his face. Rex, however, stood and stared at her.
“Oh, Rex, darling!” she cried, stopping only a few feet from him and holding out her hand. “Thank God I got here in time! You mustn’t fight this duel—you mustn’t, Rex! Please, darling, for my sake!” Her eyes turned swiftly to the corners and she saw Bruce look across at her; his expression was sombre and a cynical half-smile touched one side of his mouth. Sick with fury she wanted to hurt him, any way she could. “There’s no reason for you to fight, Rex! Why, I don’t care any more for him than the man in the moon!” There! she thought savagely, and flung him a vindictive glance; he met it with cold contempt, impervious as stone.
But as her eyes shifted across to Bruce and back again she missed altogether the look on Rex’s face, and when she looked down at him it had gone. The wild unreasoning rage of despair had disappeared. Now he was quiet, self-possessed, and seemed cool. In her preoccupation with her own worries Amber did not realize that his seeming calm was a deadly determination and that his own tension quivered like the thin blade in his hand. Misunderstanding, she still thought that she could make him do what she wanted.
“You shouldn’t have come out here, Amber,” he said. “A duelling-ground is no place for a woman. Go on back.” He turned away and walked toward the rest of the group.
“Rex!” she cried, really alarmed now, and as Jeremiah came to help her dismount she got down as quickly as she could and ran after him, grabbing him by the arm. “Rex! I don’t want you to fight! I don’t want you to, d’you hear me?”
He neither looked at her nor answered, but jerked his arm free and went on. Amber would not have stopped even then, but suddenly Almsbury caught hold of her. “Come back here. You’ll be in the way up there.”
“But I can’t let them fight! I won’t—”
“Amber, for the love of Christ!” he growled at her. “Now stay here! Don’t move!”
Helplessly she stood where he had left her. Bruce and Rex both had unsheathed their swords, and with Almsbury and the officer they were talking in low tones. At last, giving a shrug of his shoulders, Almsbury moved back; Dillon took out a white handkerchief and indicated where each man was to stand. The Earl looked at her with a scowl.
“What is it?” she asked him anxiously. “What’s the matter?”
“Carlton wants to consider it settled when blood has been drawn, but your noble champion won’t be satisfied until one of them is dead.”
“Dead! Why, he’s out of his mind! He can’t! I won’t let him!”
She broke away from Almsbury and started forward at a run. “Rex!”
Almsbury caught her arm before she had gone three steps and brought her up with a jerk. “Stop it, you little fool! A duel’s no game between children! Keep your mouth shut or go back home! You’ve got no business here in the first place!”
Surprised, she obeyed him, and stopped perfectly still. The two men now stood facing each other, poised, sword-tips touching, and Colonel Dillon held the handkerchief over his head.
“All’s ready!” called Bruce and Rex in the same voice.
“All’s ready!” Dillon brought the handkerchief down with a sweep.
Both of them were quick, fierce, and graceful, expert swordsmen. But the English style of fencing was to cut rather than to thrust, as the French did, and as they were almost of a height neither had the advantage in that respect. Rex, however, was not fencing but fighting with reckless fury, and obviously intended to kill or be killed, while Bruce was on the defensive— protecting himself but making no effort to wound his antagonist.
Amber stood watching them, her eyes darting from one to the other; her throat was dry and she twisted her skirt in her fingers. But her fears were all for Bruce—she might not have even known the man he was fighting. And when Rex’s sword pierced his right upper-arm, just below the shoulder, and drew a quick streak of blood she gave a scream and started forward. Almsbury threw one arm about her waist and dragged her back.
