us, how often have I to tell you that it is not by Mr.
Linden that my days are to terminate: you are sure that Carabine saw to
that trigger?"

"Certain," said Mr. Percy, with his mouth full, "certain. Bless me,
here's the carriage, and breakfast not half done yet."

"Come, come," cried Borodaile, impatiently, "we must breakfast
afterwards. Here, Roberts, see that we have fresh chocolate and some
more cutlets when we return."

"I would rather have them now," said Mr. Bobus, foreseeing the
possibility of the return being single: "Ibis! redibis?" etc.

"Come, we have not a moment to lose," exclaimed Borodaile, hastening
down the stairs; and Mr. Percy Bobus followed, with a strange mixture of
various regrets, partly for the breakfast that was lost and partly for
the friend that might be.

When they arrived at the ground, Clarence and the duke were already
there: the latter, who was a dead shot, had fully persuaded himself that
Clarence was equally adroit, and had, in his providence for Borodaile,
brought a surgeon. This was a circumstance of which the viscount, in
the plenitude of his confidence for himself and indifference for his
opponent, had never once dreamed.

The ground was measured; the parties were about to take the ground. All
Linden's former agitation had vanished; his mien was firm, grave, and
determined: but he showed none of the careless and fierce hardihood
which characterized his adversary; on the contrary, a close observer
might have remarked something sad and dejected amidst all the
tranquillity and steadiness of his brow and air.

"For Heaven's sake," whispered the duke, as he withdrew from the spot,
"square your body a little more to your left and remember your exact
level. Borodaile is much shorter than you."

There was a brief, dread pause: the signal was given; Borodaile fired;
his ball pierced Clarence's side; the wounded man staggered one step,
but fell not. He raised his pistol; the duke bent eagerly forward; an
expression of disappointment and surprise passed his lips; Clarence had
fired in the air. The next moment Linden felt a deadly sickness come
over him; he fell into the arms of the surgeon. Borodaile, touched by
a forbearance which he had so little right to expect, hastened to the
spot. He leaned over his adversary in greater remorse and pity than he
would have readily confessed to himself. Clarence unclosed his eyes;
they dwelt for one moment upon the subdued and earnest countenanc