Besides"--the young man appealed to the company,
smiling--"besides, what a pity to postpone matters, and spoil the
occasion, when Doctor Chantel has gone to the trouble of a clean shirt."
The doctor recoiled, flung up a trembling arm, and as quickly dropped
it. His handsome face burned darker, then faded with a mortal pallor,
and for one rigid moment, took on such a strange beauty as though it
were about to be translated into bronze. His brown fingers twitched,
became all nerves and sinews and white knuckles. Then, stepping
backward, he withdrew from the circle.
"Very well," he said lightly. "Since we are all so--irregular. I will
take the substitute."
Rudolph gave a choking cry, and would have come forward; but Sturgeon
clung to the wounded arm, and bound on his bandage.
"Hold still, there!" he scolded, as though addressing a horse; then
growled in Heywood's ear, "Why did _you_ go lose your temper?"
"Didn't. We can't let him walk over us, though." The young man held the
sword across his throat, and whispered, "Only angry up to here!"
And indeed, through the anxious preliminary silence, he stood waiting as
cool and ready as a young centurion.
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