What was the matter with me? she asked herself furiously. I had Rex—and I had Bruce, too—now what have I got! But swiftly her anger reverted to Bruce. Damn him! He’s never been anything but trouble to me!

As she heard Nan tiptoeing about in the dark, she spoke to her.

“Light a candle if you want, Nan. I can’t sleep.”

Nan went back to the other room, returned with a wax candle, and lighted three or four others in wall-sconces while Amber sat with one arm across her knees and her hand clenched in her hair.

“Lord, Nan! What’ll I do?’

Nan, who was beginning to undress, heaved a sigh. “To tell you truly, mam, I don’t know. It’s the devil’s own mess we’re in.”

Both of them looked worried and disconsolate. At last Nan blew out the candles and got into bed and they lay side by side, talking; neither one of them was able to sleep for a long while. Finally Nan fell asleep but Amber continued to toss and turn from one side to the other and she heard the bell-man go by, calling out each hour as it passed: one, two, three.

I’m not going to just lie here, she thought, and let my life be ruined! And when she heard, “God give you good morrow, my masters! Past three o’clock and a fair morning!” she flung back the covers and got out of bed, turning to shake Nan.

“Nan! Wake up! Get up! I’m going to Marrowbone Fields!”

“Good Lord, mam! I thought the house was afire—”

Amber dressed quickly but carefully, as though she was aware that this would be a dramatic moment in her life and wanted to look ready for it. She painted her face and stuck on a couple of patches, combed out her hair and let it fall in deep loose waves down over her shoulders. She wore a scarlet velvet suit, the coat of which was cut exactly like a man’s. It fitted her snugly and the neck-line opened in a low V, and there were elaborate scrolls of gold braid decorating the deep cuffs and borders of the coat and skirt. The brim of her low-crowned Cavalier’s riding-hat billowed with scarlet ostrich plumes and she had a pair of red-velvet boots lined with miniver. She had had a tailor make this suit and expected to set a new fashion, but she had not worn it before.

While Jeremiah went to hire four riding-horses Amber drank some hot coffee which Tansy had just made and, well laced with brandy, it tasted good to her for once. It was after four when Jeremiah returned and they set out for Marrowbone Fields, Amber and Nan, with Tempest and Jeremiah. It was just beginning to grow light but a heavy mist was falling which blurred the outlines of houses and trees and made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead; Amber was annoyed, for the dampness would probably spoil her gown.

She soon forgot her appearance, however, and the closer they came the more her anxiety mounted.

It took them no longer than twenty minutes to reach the place in the road where Tyburn Brook ran under a little stone bridge—and looking off toward the east they could dimly see a party of men and several horses, half obscured by a spacious group of Lombardy poplars. Amber immediately turned her horse and started toward them. Presently she could distinguish Bruce and Rex, Almsbury, Colonel Dillon whom she knew slightly, and two others who were apparently the surgeons. But only Bruce and Rex had removed their outer coats, to show that no armour had been worn.

At the sound of horses’ hoofs pounding across the field they all turned; it was not uncommon for a party to be sent to stop such meetings. But as Amber pulled on her reins and they saw who it was Bruce looked quickly away—though not before she had seen the angry annoyance on his face. Rex, however, stood and stared at her.

“Oh, Rex, darling!” she cried, stopping only a few feet from him and holding out her hand. “Thank God I got here in time! You mustn’t fight this duel—you mustn’t, Rex! Please, darling, for my sake!” Her eyes turned swiftly to the corners and she saw Bruce look across at her; his expression was sombre and a cynical half-smile touched one side of his mouth. Sick with fury she wanted to hurt him, any way she could. “There’s no reason for you to fight, Rex! Why, I don’t care any more for him than the man in the moon!” There! she thought savagely, and flung him a vindictive glance; he met it with cold contempt, impervious as stone.

But as her eyes shifted across to Bruce and back again she missed altogether the look on Rex’s face, and when she looked down at him it had gone. The wild unreasoning rage of despair had disappeared. Now he was quiet, self-possessed, and seemed cool. In her preoccupation with her own worries Amber did not realize that his seeming calm was a deadly determination and that his own tension quivered like the thin blade in his hand. Misunderstanding, she still thought that she could make him do what she wanted.

“You shouldn’t have come out here, Amber,” he said. “A duelling-ground is no place for a woman. Go on back.” He turned away and walked toward the rest of the group.

“Rex!” she cried, really alarmed now, and as Jeremiah came to help her dismount she got down as quickly as she could and ran after him, grabbing him by the arm. “Rex! I don’t want you to fight! I don’t want you to, d’you hear me?”

He neither looked at her nor answered, but jerked his arm free and went on. Amber would not have stopped even then, but suddenly Almsbury caught hold of her. “Come back here. You’ll be in the way up there.”

“But I can’t let them fight! I won’t—”

“Amber, for the love of Christ!” he growled at her. “Now stay here! Don’t move!”

Helplessly she stood where he had left her. Bruce and Rex both had unsheathed their swords, and with Almsbury and the officer they were talking in low tones. At last, giving a shrug of his shoulders, Almsbury moved back; Dillon took out a white handkerchief and indicated where each man was to stand. The Earl looked at her with a scowl.

“What is it?” she asked him anxiously. “What’s the matter?”

“Carlton wants to consider it settled when blood has been drawn, but your noble champion won’t be satisfied until one of them is dead.”

“Dead! Why, he’s out of his mind! He can’t! I won’t let him!”

She broke away from Almsbury and started forward at a run. “Rex!”

Almsbury caught her arm before she had gone three steps and brought her up with a jerk. “Stop it, you little fool! A duel’s no game between children! Keep your mouth shut or go back home! You’ve got no business here in the first place!”

Surprised, she obeyed him, and stopped perfectly still. The two men now stood facing each other, poised, sword-tips touching, and Colonel Dillon held the handkerchief over his head.

“All’s ready!” called Bruce and Rex in the same voice.

“All’s ready!” Dillon brought the handkerchief down with a sweep.

Both of them were quick, fierce, and graceful, expert swordsmen. But the English style of fencing was to cut rather than to thrust, as the French did, and as they were almost of a height neither had the advantage in that respect. Rex, however, was not fencing but fighting with reckless fury, and obviously intended to kill or be killed, while Bruce was on the defensive— protecting himself but making no effort to wound his antagonist.

Amber stood watching them, her eyes darting from one to the other; her throat was dry and she twisted her skirt in her fingers. But her fears were all for Bruce—she might not have even known the man he was fighting. And when Rex’s sword pierced his right upper-arm, just below the shoulder, and drew a quick streak of blood she gave a scream and started forward. Almsbury threw one arm about her waist and dragged her back.

Bruce had lowered his sword and Rex, refusing to seize an unfair advantage, dropped his own to his side. The blood from the small gash was streaming down Bruce’s right arm, staining his shirt and making red rivers along the exposed brown skin, and the sight of it filled Amber with terror and remorse.

“Oh, Bruce!” she wailed. “You’re hurt!”

Rex’s jaw set tensely, but Bruce ignored her.

“There,” he said to Rex. “That should satisfy you.”

More furious than ever since Amber’s impulsive cry, Rex answered him through clenched teeth. “Nothing could satisfy me but to see you dead.”

Amber gave a terrified scream that momentarily drew all eyes to her but Almsbury clapped his hand to her mouth and gave her a rough shake.

“If you don’t shut up you’ll distract him and he will get killed!”

Already the swords had begun to ring and clash again; now there was no doubt that Bruce was fighting in earnest, no longer merely defending himself. For several minutes the men moved rapidly back and forth, slashing and hacking, without either one being able to touch the other.

And then all at once the swords met, engaged, and locked. For a long tense moment they strained to get free, both men pouring sweat, their faces contorted with the intensity of effort. Then, so swiftly that it was not possible to see it happen, Bruce forced his sword free and thrust it into Rex’s chest until the tip showed through his shirt in back; and then he withdrew it, red with blood.

For an instant Rex stood as though stunned, and then he fell slowly, crumpling. The surgeons ran toward him and Amber rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him where he lay on the grass. Her throat muscles were so stiff with horror that for a moment she could not even say his name, but she took his head into her arms, cradling it against her breast, and then suddenly a mournful frightened sob broke from her and her tears splashed onto his face.

“Oh, Rex! Rex!”. she moaned. “Speak to me, darling! Speak to me—please!” Her mouth touched his forehead, his temples and eyelids, with frantic passionate kisses.