Commodore Junk — page 309: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

302 COMMODORE JUNK. harsh expirations as the contending pair swayed here and there —the captain, lithe and active as a panther, baffling again and again Humphrey’s superior weight and strength. Twice over the latter tripped and nearly fell, but he recovered himself and struggled on, seeking to wind his arms round the buccaneer and lift and throw him with a west-country wrestling trick. But try how he would, his adversary seemed to twist like an eel and recover himself, till suddenly, as they swayed here and there, with the thick rugs kicked on one side, there was a low, jangling noise as a sword escaped from its scabbard and fell upon the stony floor. It was a trifling incident, but it attracted the buccaneer’s attention for a moment—just long enough to put him off his guard—the result being that he was thrown heavily, Humphrey planting his knee upon his breast, and as he thrust out a hand it encountered the fallen sword, which he snatched up with a shout of triumph, shortened in his hand, and held to the buccaneer’s throat. “Now,” he cried, fiercely, ‘I have the upper-hand, my lad. You are my prisoner. Make but one sound, and it is your last.” The buccaneer uttered a low moan, and snatched at the blade, but the intervening hand was thrust away, and the point pressed upon the heaving flesh. “Do you give in?” ™ No!” cried the buccaneer, fiercely. “Strike, Humphrey Armstrong ; strike, and end my miserable life! Then go and say, | have slain the woman who loved me with all her heart!” “ What!” cried Humphrey, starting back, as the sword fell from his nerveless hand, and a flash, as of a revelation, en- lightened him as to the meaning of much that had before seemed strange. | “© Well, why do you not strike? Did I not speak plainly? J am Mary Dell!” Ccomicooolks.con