in the blue and red uniform of the garrison gathered upon what she had
come to regard as her own particular playground. She peered at them for
some seconds from beneath her hand, for the sun was in her eyes; and
suddenly a queer little thrill, that was not quite fear and not solely
excitement, ran through her. For all in a moment, ringing on the still
air of early morning, there came to her ears the clash of steel meeting
steel.

"Good gracious!" she said aloud. "It's a duel!"

A duel it undoubtedly was. She had a clear view of the whole scene,
distant but distinct, could even see the flash of the swords, the rapid
movements of the two combatants. It impressed her like a scene in a
theatre. She did not wholly grasp the reality of it, though her heart was
beating very fast.

Knee-deep, she stood in the sparkling water, outlined against the blue of
sky and sea, watching. Several seconds passed, during which they seemed
to be fighting with some ferocity. Then, obeying an impulse of which she
was scarcely aware, she moved on through the swishing waves, drawing
nearer at every step, hearing every instant more distinctly the ominous
clashing of the swords.

When only ankle-deep, she paused again. Perhaps, after all, it was only a
game--a fencing-match, a trial of skill! Of course, that must be it! Was
it in the least likely to be anything more serious? And yet something
within told her very decidedly that this was not so. A trial of skill it
might be, but it was being conducted in grim earnest.

She said to herself that she would slip on her mackintosh and go. But an