ast year. Now, don't deny it; I'm
positive I'm right. Do you know," he continued, glaring at me in a most
ferocious manner--"do you know that for the last six months I've been
looking for you in order that I might shoot you?"

Somehow I did not feel very greatly alarmed at this belligerent speech,
and vanity having by this time conquered my natural truthfulness, I
determined to sustain my unexpected reputation as a lady-killer at all
hazards. I therefore drew myself up, and, assuming my sternest look,
replied that I should be happy to give him the desired opportunity
whenever he might choose.

Fitz-Johnes' ferocious glare continued for a moment or two; then his
brow cleared, and, extending his hand, he grasped mine, shook the member
violently, and exclaimed:

"That was spoken like a gentleman and a brave man! Give me your hand,
Hawkesley. I respect you, sir; I esteem you; and I forgive you all. If
there is one thing which touches me more than another, one thing which I
_admire_ more than another, it is to see a man show a bold front in the
face of deadly peril. Ah! _now_ I can understand Lady Mary's
infatuation. Poor girl! I pity her. And I suppose that pretty girl
who passed just now is another victim to your fascinating powers. Ah,
well! it's not to be wondered at, I'm sure. Tomnoddy, do you remember,
by the by--?"

But Lord Tomnoddy was now standing with his back turned toward us, and
his face buried in his pocket-handkerchief. His head was bowed, his
shoulders were heaving convulsively, and certain inarticulate sounds
which escaped him showed that he was struggling to suppress some violent
emotion.

Lord Fitz-Johnes regarded his companion fixedly for a moment, then
linked his arm in mine, drew me aside, and whispered hastily:

"Don't take any notice of him; he'll be all right again in a minute.
It's only a little revulsion of feeling which has overcome him. He's
frightfully tender-hearted--far too much so for a sailor; he can't bear
the sight of blood; and he knew that if I called you out I should choose
him for my second; and--you twig, eh!"

I thought I did, but was not quite sure, so I bowed again, which seemed
quite as satisfactory as words to Fitz-Johnes, for he said, with his arm
still linked in mine:

"That's all right. Now let's go and cement our friend ship over a
bottle of wine at the `Blue Posts,' what do you say?"

I intimated that the proposal was quite agreeable to me; and we