s
to know when the--the--"

"Meeting was likely to take place?" put in Jack, as he paused; "Purdy
tells me I shan't be able to use this foot of mine for a month or
more."

"That will put it near Christmas," added Bentley.

"Yes," nodded Jack, "I think we could do no better than Christmas Day."

"A devilish strange time for a duel," says Bentley, "peace on earth, and
all that sort of thing, you know."

"Why, it's Pen," says Jack, staring hard into the fire, "she will be at
her Aunt Sophia's then, which is fortunate on the whole. I shouldn't
care for her to see me--when they bring me home."

For a long time it seemed to me none of us spoke. I fumbled through all
my pockets for my snuff-box without finding it (which was strange), and
looking up presently, I saw that Bentley had upset his wine, which was
trickling down his satin waistcoat all unnoticed.

"Jack," says I at last, "a Gad's name, lend me your snuff-box!"

"And now," says he, "suppose we have a hand at picquet."

CHAPTER THREE

_Of a Flight of Steps, a Stirrup, and a Stone_

Autumn, with its dying flowers and falling leaves, is, to my thinking, a
mournful season, and hath ever about it a haunting melancholy, a gentle
sadness that sorts very ill with this confounded tune of "Lillibuleero,"
more especially when whistled in gusts and somewhat out of key.

Therefore, as we walked along towards the Manor on this November
afternoon, I drew my arm from Bentley's and turned upon him with a
frown:

"Why in heaven's name must you whistle?" I demanded.

"Did I so, Dick? I was thinking."

"Of what, pray?"

"Of many things, man Dick, but more particularly of my nephew."

"Ah!" says I scornfully, "our gallant young Viscount! our bridegroom
elect who--ran away!"

"But none the less," added Bentley, stoutly, "a pretty fellow with a
good leg, a quick hand and a true eye, Dick--one who can tell 'a hawk
from a hern-shaw' as the saying is."

"Which I take leave to doubt," says I, sourly, "or he would have fallen
in with our wishes and married Pen a year ago, instead of running away
like a craven fool!"

"But bethink you, Dick," says Bentley flushing, "he had never so much
as seen her and, when he heard we were all so set on having him
married, he writ me saying he 'preferred a wife of his own choosing' and
then--well, he bolted!"

"Like a fool!"

"'Twas very natural," snorted Bentley, redder in the face than ev