ribute such an outrage?"

"Reproach me as much as you will, I deserve it. A man may prate of his
own secrets if he like, but he should be careful of those of other
people. I trusted yours to another, and am properly punished."

"Enough," said Henry; "we'll say no more of that, Mr. Chillingworth.
What is done cannot be undone, and we had better spend our time in
reflection of how to make the best of what is, than in useless
lamentation over its causes. What is to be done?"

"Nay, I know not. Have you fought the duel?"

"Yes; and, as you perceive, harmlessly."

"Thank Heaven for that."

"Nay, I had my fire, which Sir Francis Varney refused to return; so the
affair had just ended, when the sound of approaching tumult came upon
our ears."

[Illustration]

"What a strange mixture," exclaimed Marchdale, "of feelings and passions
this Varney appears to be. At one moment acting with the apparent
greatest malignity; and another, seeming to have awakened in his mind a
romantic generosity which knows no bounds. I cannot understand him."

"Nor I, indeed," said Henry; "but yet I somehow tremble for his fate,
and I seem to feel that something ought to be done to save him from the
fearful consequences of popular feeling. Let us hasten to the town, and
procure what assistance we may: but a few persons, well organised and
properly armed, will achieve wonders against a desultory and
ill-appointed multitude. There may be a chance of saving him, yet, from
the imminent danger which surrounds him."

"That's proper," cried the admiral. "I don't like to see anybody run
down. A fair fight's another thing. Yard arm and yard arm--stink pots
and pipkins--broadside to broadside--and throw in your bodies, if you
like, on the lee quarter; but don't do anything shabby. What do you
think of it, Jack?"

"Why, I means to say as how if Varney only keeps on sail as he's been
doing, that the devil himself wouldn't catch him in a gale."

"And yet," said Henry, "it is our duty to do the best we can. Let us at
once to the town, and summons all the assistance in our power. Come
on--come on!"

His friends needed no further urging, but, at a brisk pace, they all
proceeded by the nearest footpaths towards the town.

It puzzled his pursuers to think in what possible direction Sir Francis
Varney expected to find sustenance or succour, when they saw how
curiously he took his flight across the meadows. Instead of
endeavouring, by any circuitous path,