Dutton, though in suppressed rage, the seconds about to withdraw, will explain some things if a word were granted. “No words,” says the other; “stand on your guard!” brandishing his rapier, grasping harder his dagger. Dutton, now silent too, is on his guard. Good Heavens: after some brief flourishing and flashing,—the gleam of the swift clear steel playing madly in one’s eyes,—they at the first pass plunge home on one another; home with beak and claws; home to the very heart! Cheek’s rapier is through Dutton’s throat from before, and his dagger is through it from behind,—the windpipe miraculously missed; and in the same instant Dutton’s rapier is through  Cheek’s body from before, his dagger through his back from behind,— lungs and life not missed: and the seconds have to advance, ‘pull out the four bloody weapons,’ disengage that hell-embrace of theirs. This is serious enough! Cheek reels, his Life fast flowing; but still rushes rabid on Dutton, who merely parries, skips; till Cheek reels down, dead in his rage."