nnocence; my Lord accepts your assurance, and goes
home to breakfast--_voila tout!_"

"What an absurd situation! I declare to you I shrink from the ridicule
that must attach to such a _rencontre_, meeting a man of his age and
infirmity!"

"They make pistols admirably now-a-days," said Linton, dryly; "even the
least athletic can pull a hair-trigger."

Cashel made no answer to this speech, but stood still, uncertain how to
act.

"Come, come," said Linton, "you are giving the whole thing an importance
it does not merit; just let the old peer have the pleasure of his bit
of heroism, and it will all end as I have mentioned. They 'll leave this
to-morrow early, reach Killaloe to breakfast, whence Kilgoff will start
for the place of meeting, and, by ten o'clock, you 'll be there also.
The only matter to arrange is, whom you 'll get Were it a real affair, I
'd say Upton, or Frobisher; but, here, it is a question of secrecy, not
skill. I 'd advise, if possible, your having MacFarline."

"Sir Andrew?" said Cashel, half laughing.

"Yes; his age and standing are precisely what we want here. He'll not
refuse you; and if he should, it's only telling Lady Janet that we want
to shoot Kilgoff, and she 'll order him out at once."

"I protest it looks more absurd than ever!" said Roland, impatiently.

"That is merely your own prejudice," said Linton. "You cannot regard
single combat but as a life struggle between two men, equal not merely
in arms, but alike in bodily energy, prowess, skill, and courage. We
look on the matter here as a mere lottery, wherein the less expert as
often draws the prize--But there, as I vow, that was two o'clock! It
struck, and I promised to see Kilgoff again to-night. By the way, he 'll
want horses. Where can he get them?"

"Let him take mine; there are plenty of them, and he 'll never know
anything of it."

"Very true. What an obliging adversary, that actually 'posts' his enemy
to the ground!"

"How am I to see MacFarline to-night?"

"You 'll have to call him out of bed. Let Flint say there 's an orderly
from Limerick with despatches; that Biddy Molowney won't pay her
poor-rate, or Paddy Flanagan has rescued his pig, and the magistrates
are calling for the Fifty-something and two squadrons of horse, to
protect the police. You'll soon have him up; and, once up, his Scotch
blood will make him as discreet as an arch-deacon. So, good-night; add a
codicil to your will in favor of my Lady, and to bed.