three labouring men,
whom the unusual occurrence had caused to leave their work, and who were
eagerly watching the proceedings--whilst, just inside the gate, a boy,
whom I recognised as Wilford's tiger, was leading about a couple of
saddle-horses, one of them being the magnificent black thorough-bred
mare, of which mention has been already made.

Pulling up the horse with a jerk which threw him on his haunches, I
sprang out, and, placing my hand on the top rail of the gate, leaped
over it, gaining, as I did so, a full view of the antagonist parties,
who were stationed at about two hundred yards from the spot where I
alighted. Scarcely, however, had I taken a step or two towards the scene
of action when one of the seconds, Wentworth, I believe, dropped a white
handkerchief, and immediately the sharp report of a pistol rang in
my ear, followed instantaneously by a second. From the first moment
I caught sight of them my eyes had become riveted by a species of
fascination, which rendered it impossible to withdraw them, upon
Oaklands. As the handkerchief dropped I beheld him raise his arm, and
discharge his ~216~~pistol in the air, at the same moment he gave a
violent start, pressed his hand to his side, staggered blindly forward a
pace or two, then fell heavily to the ground (rolling partially over
as he did so), where he lay perfectly motionless, and to all appearance
dead.

[Illustration: page216 Result of Giving Satisfaction]

On finding all my worst forebodings thus apparently realised, I stood
for a moment horror-stricken by the fearful sight I had witnessed. I
was first roused to a sense of the necessity for action by Ellis, the
surgeon, who shouted as he ran past me:--

"Come on, for God's sake, though I believe he's a dead man!"'

In another moment I was kneeling on the turf, assisting Archer (who
trembled so violently that he could scarcely retain his grasp) to raise
and support Oaklands' head.

"Leave him to me," said I; "I can hold him without assistance; you will
be of more use helping Ellis."

"Oh! he's dead--I tell you he is dead!" exclaimed Archer in a tone of
the most bitter anguish.

"He is no such thing, sir," returned Ellis angrily; "hand me that lint,
and don't make such a fuss; you're as bad as a woman."

Though slightly reassured by Ellis's speech, I confess that, as I looked
upon the motionless form I was supporting, I felt half inclined to fear
Archer might be correct in his supposition. O