Each of the two men put forth all his
strength against his adversary. Fatia Negra's garments split into rags,
the blood spouted from his shoulders where Juon had worried him with his
sharp teeth like a wild beast. Not another word did they now speak, only
their panting sobs were to be heard like the snorting of two wild boars
as they dragged and dashed each other up and down on the sward.
"I was obliged to restrain Mariora violently from rushing to her
husband's assistance. She would only have distracted his attention. And
besides I would not have it so. Let the men fight it out, I thought.
They are a well matched pair."
"Then you still love Fatia Negra?" enquired Henrietta sadly.
The girl blushed.--"I love him, yes,--and therefore he must die."
She went on:
"'At that moment he was like a magician battling with a giant. The other
was half a head taller than he, and the muscles of his arms stood out
like the rugged bark of an oak's trunk. Black Mask was much the slimmer.
But every muscle in his frame seemed made of steel. His gigantic
adversary might pitch and toss him wherever he pleased, he always fell
on his feet; nor was the other ever able, squeeze as he might, to
disjoint his arms or free his own head from Fatia Negra's embrace,
though again and again he ducked down to do it; and then they would
struggle more fiercely than ever, on their knees, with their limbs
interlaced like one single, inseparable quivering mass of flesh.
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