wledge of Terence will not extend beyond his own
name," said Lord Henry Somerset, aid-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant.

A moment and I was perfectly calm, though cold as ice. Dismounting, and
stepping to the side of the speaker, I said in a low, firm voice:--

"Had your Lordship read Terence more carefully, you would have learned
that banditti are sometimes proficient in other arts beside
horsemanship," and I touched his holster significantly with my hand. I
had not read Terence myself, but with the skilful audacity of my race I
calculated that a vague allusion, coupled with a threat, would
embarrass him. It did.

"Ah--what mean you?" he said, white with rage.

"Enough, we are observed," I replied; "Father Tom will wait on you this
evening; and to-morrow morning, my lord, in the glen below Pilwiddle we
will meet again."

"Father Tom--glen!" ejaculated the Englishman, with genuine surprise.
"What? do priests carry challenges and act as seconds in your infernal
country?"

"Yes!" I answered, scornfully, "why should they not? Their services
are more often necessary than those of a surgeon," I added
significantly, turning away.

The party slowly rode off, with the exception of the Hon. Blanche
Sackville, who lingered for a moment behind. In an instant I was at
her side. Bending her blushing face over the neck of her white filly,
she said hurriedly:--

"Words have passed between Lord Somerset and yourself. You are about
to fight. Don't deny it--but hear me. You will meet him--I know your
skill of weapons. He will be at your mercy. I entreat you to spare
his life!"

I hesitated. "Never!" I cried passionately; "he has insulted a
Denville!"

"Terence," she whispered, "Terence--FOR MY SAKE?"

The blood rushed to my cheeks, and her eyes sought the ground in
bashful confusion.

"You love him then?" I cried, bitterly.

"No, no," she said, agitatedly, "no, you do me wrong. I--I--cannot
explain myself. My father!--the Lady Dowager Sackville--the estate of
Sackville--the borough--my uncle, Fitzroy Somerset. Ah! what am I
saying? Forgive me. O Terence," she said, as her beautiful head sank
on my shoulder, "you know not what I suffer!"

I seized her hand and covered it with passionate kisses. But the
high-bred English girl, recovering something of her former hauteur,
said hastily, "Leave me, leave me, but promise!"

"I promise," I replied, enthusiastically; "I WILL spare his life!"

"Thanks, Terence,