prog!"

"Let him show that he can be as dexterous with the broadsword as with a
carving-knife," said I, with a tremendous effort.

"Egad! I'll tell him that," cried Seth, jumping up, and hastening
across the garden. I had not long to wait for the effect of the speech.
Scarcely had Chiseller uttered a few words than the whole party arose,
and such a volley of "Maledicion!" and "Caramba!" and other like terms I
never heard before or since.

"I knew that would make 'em blaze up," said he; "they're all ready
now,--follow me." I obeyed, and walked after him into a little paddock,
which, from the marks of feet and other signs, seemed to be a spot not
chosen for the first time for such an amusement. The others entered by
an opposite gate, and, taking off their cloaks, folded them carefully
and laid them on the benches. They were armed to the very teeth, and
really did look amazingly like the troop of brigands Drury Lane would
produce in a new melodrama.

One of the party advanced towards Seth to arrange preliminaries, while
the rest lighted their cigars and began smoking,--an example I deemed it
wise to imitate; at least, it looked cool.

As I sat, affecting to admire the landscape, and totally careless of
what was going on behind me, I overheard Seth in a warm altercation
on the subject of my sabre, which the villano's friend insisted was
at least eight or nine inches too long. Seth, however, was equally
obstinate in asserting that I had always used it, had fought repeated
duels with it; and if we could not call the principals as witnesses,
it was for certain cogent reasons that need not be mentioned. How
I chuckled at this bit of boastfulness! how I prayed that it might
terrify the enemy! Nothing of the kind; the semi-savage stepped out into
the circle, with his shirt-sleeve rolled up to the shoulder, displaying
an arm whose muscular development was like knotted cordage. As if to
give a foretaste of what he intended for me, he clove down the stout
branch of an elm-tree with a single stroke and with the ease of a man
slicing a cheese. Never did I think so meanly of a fandango as at that
moment; never was I in a mood less lenient to female coquetry!

"All's ready, Con, my hearty," whispered Seth, leaning over my shoulder;
"here's the tool."

If I had followed the instinct then strongest, I should have treated my
"friend" Seth to the first of my maiden sword. But for him--But it was
too late for regrets; and already the