"Priest, devil or ghost!" raged Hamilton, with a froth gathering
around his mouth; "I'll kill you, or--"
He made a longe, when his adversary left an opening which appeared
absolutely beyond defence. It was a quick, dextrous, vicious
thrust. The blade leaped toward Father Beret's heart with a
twinkle like lightning.
At that moment, although warily alert and hopeful that his
opportunity was at hand, Father Beret came near losing his life;
for as he side-stepped and easily parried Hamilton's thrust, which
he had invited, thinking to entangle his blade and disarm him, he
caught his foot in Alice's skirt and stumbled, nearly falling
across her. It would have been easy for Hamilton to run him
through, had he instantly followed up the advantage. But the
moonlight on Alice's face struck his eyes, and by that indirect
ray of vision which is often strangely effective, he recognized
her lying there. It was a disconcerting thing for him, but he
rallied instantly and sprang aside, taking a new position just in
time to face Father Beret again. A chill crept up his back. The
horror which he could not shake off enraged him beyond measure.
Gathering fresh energy, he renewed the assault with desperate
steadiness the highest product of absolutely molten fury.
Father Beret felt the dangerous access of power in his
antagonist's arm, and knew that a crisis had arrived.
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