es he had KILLED his man. In
those days one never heard of the parties leaving the field, as not
unfrequently now occurs, without blood having been spilt; and the
odds were, of course, in all cases tremendously against a young and
unpractised man, when matched with an experienced antagonist. My
impression respecting the magnitude of the danger which my friend had
incurred was therefore by no means unwarranted.

I now questioned O'Connor more accurately respecting the circumstances
of his quarrel with Fitzgerald. It arose from some dispute respecting
the application of a rule of piquet, at which game they had been
playing, each interpreting it favourably to himself, and O'Connor,
having lost considerably, was in no mood to conduct an argument with
temper--an altercation ensued, and that of rather a pungent nature,
and the result was that he left Fitzgerald's room rather abruptly,
determined to demand an explanation in the most peremptory tone. For
this purpose he had sent for M'Donough, and had commissioned him to
deliver the note, which my arrival had fortunately intercepted.

As it was now past noon, O'Connor made me promise to remain with him
to dinner; and we sat down a party of three, all in high spirits at
the termination of our anxieties. It is necessary to mention, for the
purpose of accounting for what follows, that Mrs. O'Connor, or, as she
was more euphoniously styled, the lady of Castle Connor, was precluded
by ill-health from taking her place at the dinner-table, and, indeed,
seldom left her room before four o'clock.(4) We were sitting after
dinner sipping our claret, and talking, and laughing, and enjoying
ourselves exceedingly, when a servant, stepping into the room, informed
his master that a gentleman wanted to speak with him.

(4) It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader, that at
the period spoken of, the important hour of dinner occurred
very nearly at noon.

'Request him, with my compliments, to walk in,' said O'Connor; and in a
few moments a gentleman entered the room.

His appearance was anything but prepossessing. He was a little above the
middle size, spare, and raw-boned; his face very red, his features sharp
and bluish, and his age might be about sixty. His attire savoured a good
deal of the SHABBY-GENTEEL; his clothes, which had much of tarnished
and faded pretension about them, did not fit him, and had not improbably
fluttered in the stalls of Plunket Street. We ha