swords or
pistols?" he asked his enemy, coolly.

"Swords, if you please," remarked Mallow grimly, for he had a gift with
the sword.

Dyck nodded again.

"As you will. As you will!"

CHAPTER IV. THE DUEL

It was a morning such as could only be brought into existence by the
Maker of mornings in Ireland. It was a day such as Dublin placed away
carefully into the pantechnicon of famous archives.

The city of Dublin was not always clean, but in the bright, gorgeous sun
her natural filth was no menace to the eye, no repulse to the senses.
Above the Liffey, even at so early an hour, the heat shimmers like a
silver mist. The bells of churches were ringing, and the great cathedral
bells boomed in thrilling monotony over the peaceful city. Here and
there in the shabby yet renowned streets, horsemen moved along; now
and then the costermonger raised his cry of fresh fruit, flowers, and
"distinguished vegetables."

People moved into church doorways on their way to mass or
confession--some bright and rather gorgeous beings, some in deep
mourning, shy, reserved, and obscure. Here and there, also, in certain
streets--where officials lived or worked--were soldiers afoot; soldiers
with carbines and long bayonets, with tall, slightly peaked hats, smart
red coats, belts crossing their breasts, knee-breeches and leggings, and
all with epaulets shining. They were in marked contrast to the peasant
folk with the high-peaked soft hat, knee-breeches, rough tail-coat, and
stockings, some with rifles, some with pikes, some with powder-horns
slung under their arms or in the small of the back.

Besides this show of foot-soldiers--that is, regulars and irregulars of
the Cornwallis Regiment, and men of the Defenders and the Peep-o'-Day
Boys--there were little groups of cavalry making their way to the
parade-ground, the castle, the barracks, or the courts.

Beyond these there was the jaunting-car trundling over the rough
cobblestone street, or bumping in and out of dangerous holes. Whips
cracked, and the loud voices of jarveys shouted blatant humour and Irish
fun at horse and passenger. Here and there, also, some stately coach,
bedizened with arms of the quality, made its way through the chief
streets, or across the bridges of the Liffey.

Then came the general population, moving cheerfully in the inspiriting
sun; for Irishmen move so much in a moist atmosphere that on a sunshiny
day all tristesse of life seems changed, as in a flash