Master Wesley knew it--knew, further, that there was no retreat, and that his one chance hung on getting in his blow first and disabling with it.

He jabbed it home with his right, a little below the heart: and in a second the inclosing fore-arm dragged limp across his neck.

He pressed on, aiming for the point of the jaw; but slowly lowered his hands as Randall tottered back two steps with a face of agony, dropped upon one knee, clutching at his breast, and so to the turf, where he writhed for a moment and fainted.
As the ring broke up, cheering, and surged across the green, the old gentleman took snuff again and snapped down the lid of his box.
"Good!" said he; then to the lady, "Are you a relative of his ?" "I am his mother, sir.".