ned, I could bear to die the death of a common felon. Here, sir, is
a proposition that admits of only the one fatal and deadly alternative.
You see these pistols; they are heavily loaded; and you know my purpose;
--it is the purpose, let me tell you, of a resolved and desperate man."

"I know not how to account for this violence, Sir Thomas Gourlay,"
replied the stranger with singular coolness; "all I can say is, that on
me it is thrown away."

"Refuse the compliance with the proposition I have made, and by heavens
you have looked upon your last sun. The pistols, sir, are cocked; if one
fails, the other won't."

"This outrage, Sir Thomas, upon a stranger, in your own house, under the
protection of your own roof, is as monstrous as it is cowardly."

"My roof, sir, shall never afford protection to a villain," said the
baronet, in a loud and furious voice. "Renounce my daughter, and that
quickly. No, sir, this roof will afford you no protection."

[Illustration: PAGE 446-- Pistols, which he instantly cocked, and held
ready]

"Well, sir, I cannot help that," replied the stranger, deliberately
taking out of his breast, where they were covered by an outside coat, a
case of excellent pistols, which he instantly cocked, and held ready
for action: "If your roof won't, these good friends will. And now,
Sir Thomas, hear me; lay aside your idle weapons, which, were I even
unarmed, I would disregard as much as I do this moment. Our interview
is now closed; but before I go, let me entreat you to reflect upon the
conditions I have offered you; reflect upon them deeply--yes, and accept
them, otherwise you will involve yourself in all the consequences of a
guilty but unsuccessful ambition--in contempt--infamy--and ruin."

The baronet's face became exceedingly blank at the exhibition of the
fire-arms. Pistol for pistol had been utterly out of the range of
his calculations. He looked upon the stranger with astonishment, not
un-mingled with a considerable portion of that wholesome feeling which
begets self-preservation. In fact, he was struck dumb, and uttered not a
syllable; and as the stranger made his parting bow, the other could only
stare at him as if he had seen an apparition.

CHAPTER XXII. Lucy at Summerfield Cottage.

On his way to the inn, the stranger could not avoid admiring the
excellent sense and prudence displayed by Lucy Gourlay, in the brief
dialogue which we have already detailed to our readers. He felt c