She did not wholly grasp the reality of it, though her heart was beating very fast.
Knee-deep, she stood in the sparkling water, outlined against the blue of sky and sea, watching.

Several seconds passed, during which they seemed to be fighting with some ferocity.

Then, obeying an impulse of which she was scarcely aware, she moved on through the swishing waves, drawing nearer at every step, hearing every instant more distinctly the ominous clashing of the swords.
When only ankle-deep, she paused again.

Perhaps, after all, it was only a game--a fencing-match, a trial of skill! Of course, that must be it! Was it in the least likely to be anything more serious?
And yet something within told her very decidedly that this was not so.

A trial of skill it might be, but it was being conducted in grim earnest.
She said to herself that she would slip on her mackintosh and go.