, into high
spirits and much activity. Not that the country, at its worst, is
slow-footed or depressed; for wit is always at the elbow of want.

Never in all Ireland's years had she a more beautiful day than that
in which Dyck Calhoun and the Hon. Leonard Mallow met to settle their
account in a secluded corner of Phoenix Park. It was not the usual
place for duels. The seconds had taken care to keep the locale from the
knowledge of the public; especially as many who had come to know of the
event at the Breakneck Club were eager to be present.

The affair began an hour after sunrise. Neither Dyck nor Leonard Mallow
slept at home the night before, but in separate taverns near Phoenix
Park. Mallow came almost jauntily to the obscure spot. Both men had
sensitiveness, and both entered the grounds with a certain sense of
pleasure.

Dyck moved and spoke like a man charged with some fluid which had
abstracted him from life's monotonous routine. He had to consider the
chance of never leaving the grounds alive; yet as he entered the place,
where smooth grass between the trees made good footing for the work to
be done, the thrill of the greenery, the sound of the birds, the flick
of a lizard across the path, and the distant gay leap of a young deer,
brought to his senses a gust of joyous feeling.

"I never smelled such air!" he said to one of the seconds. "I never saw
the sun so beautiful!" He sniffed the air and turned his face towards
the sun. "Well, it's a day for Ireland," he added, in response to a
gravely playful remark of Sir Almeric Foyle. "Ireland never was so
sweet. Nature's provoking us!"

"Yes, it's a pity," said Sir Almeric. "But I'm not thinking of bad luck
for you, Calhoun."

Dyck's smile seemed to come from infinite distance. He was not normal;
he was submerged. He was in the great, consuming atmosphere of the
bigger world, and the greater life. He even did not hate Mallow at the
moment. The thing about to be done was to him a test of manhood. It was
a call upon the courage of the soul, a challenge of life, strength, and
will.

As Mallow entered the grounds, the thought of Sheila Llyn crossed Dyck's
mind, and the mental sight of her gladdened the eyes of his soul. For
one brief instant he stood lost in the mind's look; then he stepped
forward, saluted, shook hands with Mallow, and doffed his coat and
waistcoat.

As he did so, he was conscious of a curious coldness, even of dampness,
in the hand which had