She glanced around quickly, running, as she did so, with a kind of blind instinct towards the clump of firs.

Presently she saw a little stream of light in the trees.

Always a creature of abundant energy and sprightliness, she swept through the night, from the comedy behind to the tragedy in front; the grey starlight falling about her white dress and making her hair seem like a cloud behind her as she ran.
Suddenly she came in on the two sworders with a scared, transfigured face.
Iberville had his man at an advantage, and was making the most of it when she came in at an angle behind the other, and the sight of her stayed his arm.

It was but for a breath, but it served.

Gering had not seen, and his sword ran up Iberville's arm, making a little trench in the flesh.
She ran in on them from the gloom, saying in a sharp, aching voice: "Stop, stop! Oh, what madness!" The points dropped and they stepped back.