LITMIR.BIZ

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him head over heels had not he let his knees go just in time and ducked under it, hitting his foe once again on the mark with all his strength.

      "How d'you feel?" asked Delorme as Dam went to his stool.

      "Happy," said he.

      "Don't talk piffle," was the reply. "How do you feel? Wind all right? Groggy at all?"

      "Not a bit," said Dam. "I am enjoying it."

      And so he was. Hitherto the Snake had had him bound and helpless. As it pursued him in nightmares, his knees had turned to water, great chains had bound his arms, devilish gags had throttled him, he could not breathe, and he had not had a chance to escape nor to fight. He could not even scream for help. He could only cling to a shelf. Now he had a chance. His limbs were free, his eyes were open, he could breathe, think, act, defend himself and attack.

      "Seconds out of the ring. Time!" called the time-keeper and Delorme ceased fanning with the towel, splashed a spongeful of water in Dam's face and backed away with his stool.

      Harberth seemed determined to make an end.

      He rushed at his opponent whirling his arms, breathing stertorously, and scowling savagely.

      Guarding hurt Dam's arms, he had no time to hit, and in ducking he was slow and got a blow (aimed at his chin) in the middle of his forehead. Down he went like a nine-pin, but was up as quickly, and ready for Harberth who had rushed at him in the act of rising, while the referee shouted "Stand clear".

      As he came on, Dam fell on one knee and drove at his mark again.

      Harberth grunted and placed his hands on the smitten spot.

      Judging time and distance well, Dam hit with all his force at the bully's chin and he went down like a log.

      Rising majestically, the time-keeper lifted up his voice and counted: "One—two—three—four—five—six"—and Harberth opened his eyes, sat up, "seven—eight—nine"—and lay down again; and just as Dam was about to leap for joy and the audience to roar their approval—instead of the fatal "OUT" the time-keeper called "Time".

      Had Dam struck the blow a second sooner, the fight would have been over and he would have won. As it was, Harberth had the whole interval in which to recover. Dam's own luck! (But Miss Smellie had always said there is no such thing as Luck!) Well—so much the better. Fighting the Snake was the real joy, and victory would end it. So would defeat and he must not get cock-a-hoop and careless.

      Delorme filled his mouth with water and ejected it in a fine spray over Dam's head and chest. He was very proud of this feat, but, though most refreshing, Dam could have preferred that the water had come from a sprayer.

      "Seconds out of the ring, Time!" called the referee.

      Harberth appeared quite recovered, but he was of a curious colour and seemed tired.

      Acting on his second's advice, Dam gave his whole attention to getting at his opponent's body again, and overdid it. As Harberth struck at him with his left, he ducked, and as he was aiming at Harberth's mark, he was suddenly knocked from day into night, from light into darkness, from life into death….

      Years passed and Dam strove to explain that the mainspring had broken and that he had heard it click—when suddenly a great black drop-curtain rolled up, while some one snapped back some slides that had covered his ears, and had completely deafened him.

      Then he saw Harberth and heard the voice of the time-keeper saying: "five—six—seven".

      He scrambled to his knees, "eight" swayed and staggered to his feet, collapsed, rose, "nine" and was knocked down by Harberth.

      The time-keeper again stood up and counted, "One—two—three". But this blow actually helped him.

      He lay collecting his strength and wits, breathing deeply and taking nine seconds' rest.

      On the word "nine" he sprang to his feet and as Harberth rushed in, side-stepped, and, as that youth instinctively covered his much-smitten "mark," Dam drove at his chin and sent him staggering. As he went after him he saw that Harberth was breathing hard, trembling, and swaying on his feet. Springing in, he rained short-arm blows until Harberth fell and then he stepped well back.

      Harberth sat shaking his head, looking piteous, and, in the middle of the time-keeper's counting, he arose remarking, "I've had enough"—and walked to his chair.

      Bully Harberth was beaten—and Dam felt that the Snake was farther from him than ever it had been since he could remember.

      "De Warrenne wins," said Cokeson, and then Flaherty of the Sixth stepped into the ring and stopped the fight with much show of wrath and indignation.

      Dam was wildly cheered and chaired and thence-forth was as popular and as admired as he had been shunned and despised.

      Nor did he have another Snake seizure by day (though countless terrible nightmares in what must be called his sleep) till some time after he had left school.

      When he did, it had a most momentous influence upon his career.

      She is mine! She is mine!

       By her soul divine

       By her heart's pure guile

       By her lips' sweet smile

       She is mine! She is mine.

      Encapture? Aye

       In dreams as fair

       As angel whispers, low and rare,

       In thoughts as pure

       As childhood's innocent allure

       In hopes as bright

       In deeds as white

       As altar lilies, bathed in light.

      She is mine! She is mine!

       By seal as true

       To spirit view

       As holy scripture writ in dew,

       By bond as fair

       To vision rare

       As holy scripture writ in air,

       By writ as wise to spirit eyes

       As holy scripture in God's skies v

       She is mine! She is mine!

      Elude me? Nay,

       Ere earth reclaimed

       In joy unveils a Heaven regained,

       Ere sea unbound,

       Unfretting, rolls in mist—nor sound,

       Ere sun and star repentent crash

       In scattered ash, across the bar

       She is mine I She is mine!

Chapter VII.

       Love—and the Snake

       Table of Contents

      Damocles de Warrenne, gentleman-cadet, on the eve of returning from Monksmead to the Military Academy of Sandhurst, appeared to have something on his mind as he sat on the broad coping of the terrace balustrade and idly kicked his heels. Every time he had returned to Monksmead from Wellingborough and Sandhurst, he had found Lucille yet more charming, delightful, and lovable. As her skirts and hair lengthened she became more and more the real companion, the pal, the adviser, without becoming any less the sportsman.

      He had always loved her quaint terms of endearment, slang, and epithets, but as she grew into a beautiful and refined and dignified girl, it was still more piquant to be addressed in the highly unladylike (or un-Smelliean) terms that she affected.

      Dam never quite knew when she began to make his heart beat quicker, and when her presence began to act upon him

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