The Door to Eternity
"So?" he asked at length. "So you have conquered, Irishman?"
"The O'Rourke was not made to be thrust over the edge of a cliff by a mercenary murderer, Monsieur the Duke."
"It is apparent." The duke's nerve was admirable; he turned away again, and resumed his inspection of his finger nails. "And—and," he asked after a slight pause, "what do you intend to do about it, Colonel O'Rourke?"
"I propose, Monsieur the Duke, to give ye an opportunity to prove your right to live," returned O'Rourke calmly.
"What does that mean, monsieur?" The duke swung about quickly.
Bowing courteously, the Irishman proffered the weapons over his arm.
"It is your choice, monsieur the canaille," he said gently. "Choose quickly, monsieur, and defend yourself; for, if ye refuse, by the Eternal, I'll cut ye down as ye stand!"
The duke threw back his head and laughed joyously—a boyish laugh, ringing with superb self-confidence, that might well have sent a shiver quivering down O'Rourke's spine.
With a graceful gesture, the man seized the first hilt that came to his hand and led the way to the padded fencing floor.
"This," he said mirthfully, "is the apogee of chivalry, Colonel O 'Rourke. You escape from one death and willingly offer yourself upon the altar of another. It is sad—nay, touching, Colonel O'Rourke. For—well, it would not be fair to myself to permit you to live, you understand. Moreover, it would be a weary disappointment to madame, should I fall. So, then, I grant you two minutes to make your peace with God, O'Rourke!"
"Guard!" cried O'Rourke briefly.
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