With a sudden effort he shook off the lethargy of half
sleep, and sprung to his feet, at the very moment a gleaming sword was
pointed at his throat. "Ha, villain! at thy murderous work again!" he
exclaimed, and another moment beheld him closed in deadly conflict
with his mysterious foe. A deep and terrible oath, and then a mocking
laugh, escaped his adversary; and something in those sounds, nerved
Stanley's arms with resistless power: he was sure he could not be
mistaken, and he fought, not with the unguarded desire of one eager
to obtain satisfaction for personal injury--but he was calm, cool,
collected, as threefold an avenger. For once, the demon-like caution
of the supposed Italian deserted him: discovery was inevitable, and
his sole aim was to compass the death of the hated foreigner with his
own. He tried gradually to retreat to the very edge of the precipice,
and Stanley's calm and cautious avoidance of the design lashed him
into yet fiercer desperation. Thick and fast, fell those tremendous
blows. The Italian had the advantage in height and size, Stanley in
steady coolness and prudent guard; the Italian sought only to slay his
adversary, caring not to defend himself; Arthur evidently endeavored
merely to unhelm the traitor, and bring him but slightly wounded to
the ground.
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