He did escape, however, by a bound, quick as a cat's; but the point of Dunborough's weapon ripped up his breeches on the hip, the hilt rapped against the bone, and the two men came together bodily.

For a moment they wrestled, and seemed to be going to fight like beasts.
Then Sir George, his left forearm under the other's chin, flung him three paces away; and shifting his sword into his right hand--hitherto he had been unable to change it--he stopped Dunborough's savage rush with the point, and beat him off and kept him off--parrying his lunges, and doing his utmost the while to avoid dealing him a fatal wound.

Soane was so much the better swordsman--as was immediately apparent to all the onlookers--that he no longer feared for himself; all his fears were for his opponent, the fire and fury of whose attacks he could not explain to himself, until he found them flagging; and flagging so fast that he sought a reason.

Then Dunborough's point beginning to waver, and his feet to slip, Sir George's eyes were opened; he discerned a crimson patch spread and spread on the other's side--where unnoticed Dunborough had kept his hand--and with a cry for help he sprang forward in time to catch the falling man in his arms.
As the others ran in, the surgeons quickly and silently, Lord Almeric more slowly, and with exclamations, Sir George lowered his burden gently to the ground.

The instant it was done, Morris touched his arm and signed to him to stand back.