All at once, however, they disagreed on some slight matter--Bloundel could not tell what, nor, perhaps, could the disputants, even if their quarrel was not preconcerted--high words arose, and in another moment, swords were drawn, and furious passes exchanged.

The grocer called to his eldest son, a stout youth of nineteen, and to Leonard Holt, to separate them.

The apprentice seized his cudgel--no apprentice in those days was without one--and rushed towards the combatants, but before he could interfere, the fray was ended.

One of them had received a thrust through the sword arm, and his blade dropping, his antagonist declared himself satisfied, and with a grave salute walked off.

The wounded man wrapped a lace handkerchief round his arm, but immediately afterwards complained of great faintness.
Pitying his condition, and suspecting no harm, the grocer led him into an inner room, where restoratives were offered by Mrs.Bloundel and her daughter Amabel, both of whom had been alarmed by the noise of the conflict.