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XXVIII. The Hollow Amid the Ferns

           "Haveyourunmethrough?no,youhavenot!Whateverhaveyoudone!"

           "Ihavenottouchedyou,"saidTroy,quietly."Itwasmeresleightofhand.Theswordpassedbehindyou.Nowyouarenotafraid,areyou?BecauseifyouareIcan’tperform.IgivemywordthatIwillnotonlynothurtyou,butnotoncetouchyou."

           "Idon’tthinkIamafraid.Youarequitesureyouwillnothurtme?"

           "Quitesure."

           "Istheswordverysharp?"

           "Onoonlystandasstillasastatue.Now!"

           InaninstanttheatmospherewastransformedtoBathsheba’seyes.Beamsoflightcaughtfromthelowsun’srays,above,around,infrontofher,well-nighshutoutearthandheavenallemittedinthemarvellousevolutionsofTroy’sreflectingblade,whichseemedeverywhereatonce,andyetnowherespecially.Thesecirclinggleamswereaccompaniedbyakeenrushthatwasalmostawhistlingalsospringingfromallsidesofheratonce.Inshort,shewasenclosedinafirmamentoflight,andofsharphisses,resemblingasky-fullofmeteorscloseathand.

           NeversincethebroadswordbecamethenationalweaponhadtherebeenmoredexterityshowninitsmanagementthanbythehandsofSergeantTroy,andneverhadhebeeninsuchsplendidtemperfortheperformanceasnowintheeveningsunshineamongthefernswithBathsheba.Itmaysafelybeassertedwithrespecttotheclosenessofhiscuts,thathaditbeenpossiblefortheedgeoftheswordtoleaveintheairapermanentsubstancewhereveritflewpast,thespaceleftuntouchedwouldhavebeenalmostamouldofBathsheba’sfigure.

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