in the report of my pistol, which went off at the
instant. For a second the flash and smoke obstructed my view; but the
moment after I saw Trevyllian stretched upon the ground, with his friend
kneeling beside him. My first impulse was to rush over, for now all feeling
of enmity was buried in most heartfelt anxiety for his fate; but as I was
stepping forward, O'Shaughnessy called out, "Stand fast, boy, he's only
wounded!" and the same moment he rose slowly from the ground, with the
assistance of his friend, and looked with the same wild gaze around him.
Such a look! I shall never forget it; there was that intense expression of
searching anxiety, as if he sought to trace the outlines of some visionary
spirit as it receded before him. Quickly reassured, as it seemed, by
the glance he threw on all sides, his countenance lighted up, not with
pleasure, but with a fiendish expression of revengeful triumph, which even
his voice evinced as he called out: "It's my turn now."

I felt the words in their full force, as I stood silently awaiting my death
wound. The pause was a long one. Twice did he interrupt his friend, as he
was about to give the word, by an expression of suffering, pressing his
hand upon his side, and seeming to writhe with torture; and yet this was
mere counterfeit.

O'Shaughnessy was now coming forward to interfere and prevent these
interruptions, when Trevyllian called out in a firm tone, "I'm ready!" At
the words, "One, two!" the pistol slowly rose; his dark eye measured me
coolly, steadily; his lip curled; and just as I felt that my last moment
of life had arrived, a heavy sound of a horse galloping along the rocky
causeway seemed to take off his attention. His frame trembled, his hand
shook, and jerking upwards his weapon, the ball passed high above my head.

"You bear me witness I fired in the air," said Trevyllian, while the large
drops of perspiration rolled from his forehead, and his features worked as
if in a fit.

"You saw it, sir; and you, Beaufort, my friend, you also. Speak! Why will
you not speak?"

"Be calm, Trevyllian; be calm, for Heaven's sake! What's the matter with
you?"

[Illustration: THE COAT OF MAIL.]

"The affair is then ended," said Baker, "and most happily so. You are, I
hope, not dangerously wounded."

As he spoke, Trevyllian's features grew deadly livid; his half-open mouth
quivered slightly, his eyes became fixed, and his arm dropped heavily
beside him, and with a low moan