And although her fingers pinched his arm, her eyes were all for the fight.
It had been almost a knock-down; but young Wesley just saved himself by touching the turf with his fingertips and, resting so, crouched for a spring.

What is more, he timed it beautifully; helped by Randall himself, who followed up at random, demoralised by the happy fluke and encouraged by the shouts of Hutton's to "finish him off." In the fall Wesley had most of his remaining breath thumped out of him; but this did not matter.

He had saved the round.
The old gentleman nodded.

"Well recovered: very pretty--very pretty indeed!" He turned to the lady.

"I beg your pardon, madam--" "I beg yours, sir." She withdrew her hand from his arm.
"If he can swallow that down, he may win yet." "Please God!" She stood almost a head taller than he, and he gazed up into a singularly noble face, proud and strong, somewhat pinched about the lips, but having such eyes and brows as belong to the few accustomed to confront great thoughts.