And the echo falls upon the ring like distant thunder.
Where, now, is the laughter in Basil's eyes, or who can see the sunlight on Heathcote's troubled face?
Who now nod their heads but the unknowing ones?
and who looks grave but Birket?
As when a mountain torrent rushes down its bed with huge uproar until it meet a fiercer, leaping headlong from the cliff, and drowning the lesser din with a greater, so do the shouts for Basil the son of Richard, grow faint beneath the shouts that rise for Culver, the large of bone.

Nor when "time" is called, and from the trembling knees of their seconds those two arise and stalk into the ring, does the clamour cease, till Birket, with his eye on the clock, breathes threatenings and demands it.
Then you may hear a pin fall, as Basil, stern of eye and tight of lip, stands fast and waits his man.

The knowing ones look anxiously to where the solid Culver squares, and take cheer; for he is flushed and eager, and his lips are open as he walks into the fray.

And Heathcote calls loud upon his hero, and Birket bids him straight "go in and win." Gosse yet again bids the solid one "hit low!" and the unknowing ones cry "two to one on Culver." The heroes meet, and Culver, gathering up his might, makes feint at Basil's head.

Up goes the wary arm of Basil, which marking, Culver smites hard and low, a villain thrust hard on the hero's belt.