links to the
desolate sandy shore; there let the sound of the waves enter the
portals of his brain and fill all its hollow caves with their moaning;
and then wandering back to the old city, stood at length over the
keystone of the bridge, and looked down into the dark water below the
Gothic arch.

He heard a footstep behind him on the bridge. Looking round he saw
Beauchamp. Without reason or object, he walked up to him and barred his
way. Beauchamp started, and drew back.

"Beauchamp," said Alec, "you are my devil."

"Granted," said Beauchamp, coolly, but on his guard.

"What are you about with my cousin?"

"What is that to you?"

"She is my cousin."

"I don't care. She's not mine."

"If you play her false, as you have played me--by heavens!--"

"Oh! I'll be very kind to her. You needn't be afraid. I only wanted to
take down your damned impudence. You may go to her when you like."

Alec's answer was a blow, which Beauchamp was prepared for and avoided.
Alec pursued the attack with a burning desire to give him the
punishment he deserved. But he turned suddenly sick, and, although he
afterwards recalled a wrestle, knee to knee, the first thing he was
aware of was the cold waters of the river closing over him. The shock
restored him. When he rose to the surface he swam down the stream, for
the banks were precipitous in the neighbourhood of the bridge. At
length he succeeded in landing, and set out for home. He had not gone
far, however, before he grew very faint, and had to sit down on a
door-step. Then he discovered that his arm was bleeding, and knew that
Beauchamp had stabbed him. He contrived to tie it up after a fashion,
and reached home without much more difficulty. Mr Cupples had not come
in. So he got his landlady to tie up his arm for him, and then changed
his clothes. Fortunately the wound, although long and deep, ran
lengthways between the shoulder and elbow, on the outside of the arm,
and so was not of a serious character. After he was dressed, feeling
quite well, he set off to keep his engagement with Gilbert Gordon.

Now how could such a thing have taken place in the third decade of the
nineteenth century?--The parapet was low and the struggle was fierce. I
do not think that Beauchamp intended murder, for the consequences of
murder must be a serious consideration to every gentleman. He came of a
wild race, with whom a word and a steel blow had been linked for ages.
And habits transmitted become