nevertheless, a little bubble of
love now and then rose to the surface; and by the time she reached her
own door, love predominated, and she sighed as she laid her hand on the
knocker: "After all, if the dear fellow should be killed, what would
become of me!--oh!--and that wretch, Dick Dawson, too--_two_ of them.
The worst of these merry devils is they are always fighting."

The squire had ridden immediately homewards, and told Dick Dawson the
piece of work that was before them.

"And so he will have a shot at you, instead of an action?" said Dick.
"Well there's pluck in that: I wish he was more of a gentleman, for
your sake. It's dirty work, shooting attorneys."

"He's enough of a gentleman, Dick, to make it impossible for me to
refuse him."

"Certainly, Ned," said Dick.

"Do you know, is he anything of a shot?"

"Faith, he makes very pretty snipe shooting; but I don't know if he has
experience of the grass before breakfast."

"You must try and find out from some one on the ground; because, if the
poor divil isn't a good shot, I wouldn't like to kill him, and I'll let
him off easy--I'll give it to him in the pistol-arm, or so."

"Very well, Ned. Where are the flutes? I must look over them."

"Here," said the squire, producing a very handsome mahogany case of
Rigby's best. Dick opened the case with the utmost care, and took up
one of the pistols tenderly, handling it as delicately as if it were a
young child or a lady's hand. He clicked the lock back and forward a
few times; and, his ear not being satisfied at the music it produced,
he said he should like to examine them: "At all events they want a
touch of oil."

"Well, keep them out of the misthriss' sight, Dick, for she might be
alarmed."

"Divil a taste," says Dick; "she's a Dawson, and there never was a
Dawson yet that did not know men must be men."

"That's true, Dick. I would not mind so much if she wasn't in a delicate
situation just now, when it couldn't be expected of the woman to be so
stout; so go, like a good fellow, into your own room, and Andy will
bring you anything you want."

Five minutes after, Dick was engaged in cleaning the duelling pistols,
and Andy at his elbow, with his mouth wide open, wondering at the
interior of the locks which Dick had just taken off.

"Oh, my heavens! but that's a quare thing, Misther Dick, sir," said
Andy, going to take it up.

"Keep your fingers off it, you thief, do!" roared Dick, making a rap of
the