The whole
brisk little episode had not occupied five minutes, and Sir
Norman was scarcely aware the fight had began before it had
triumphantly ended.
"Short, sharp, and decisive!" was the stranger's cool criticism,
as he deliberately wiped his blood=stained sword, and placed it
in a velvet scabbard. "Our friends, there, got more than they
bargained for, I fancy. Though, but for you, Sir," he said,
politely raising him hat and bowing, "I should probably have been
ere this in heaven, or - the other place."
Sir Norman, deeply edified by the easy sang-froid of the speaker,
turned to take a second look at him. There was very little
light; for the night had grown darker as it wore on, and the few
stars that had glimmered faintly had hid their diminished heads
behind the piles of inky clouds. Still, there was a sort of
faint phosphorescent light whitening the gloom, and by it Sir
Norman's keen bright eyes discovered that he wore a long dark
cloak and slouched hat. He discovered something else, too - that
he had seen that hat and cloak, and the man inside of them on
London Bridge, not an hour before. It struck Sir Norman there
was a sort of fatality in their meeting; and his pulses quickened
a trifle, as he thought that he might be speaking to the husband
of the lady for whom he had so suddenly conceived such a rash and
inordinate attachment.
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