s measured out by the seconds, while old Edie stood
unheeded at the side muttering, "Bairns, bairns--madmen, I should rather
say! Weel, your blood be on your heads!"

The fatal signal was given. Both fired almost at the same moment.
Captain MacIntyre's ball grazed the side of his opponent, but failed to
draw blood. That of Lovel was more true to the aim. MacIntyre reeled and
fell. Raising himself on his arm, his first exclamation was: "It is
nothing--it is nothing! Give us the other pistols!"

But the moment after he added in a lower tone: "I believe I have enough,
and what's worse, I fear I deserve it. Mr. Lovel, or whatever your name
is, fly and save yourself. Bear witness all of you, I alone provoked the
quarrel."

Then raising himself on his arm, he added: "Shake hands, Lovel. I
believe you to be a gentleman--forgive my rudeness, and I forgive you my
death!"

Lovel stood dizzy and bewildered, while the ship's surgeon approached to
do his part. But presently his arm was grasped by Edie, who hurried him
off the field with the assistance of Lieutenant Taffril, his late
second.

"He is right--he is right!" exclaimed Taffril, "go with him--there, into
the wood--not by the highroad. Let him bring you to the sands at three
of the morning. A boat will be in waiting to take you off to my brig,
which will sail at once."

"Yes--fly--fly!" said the wounded man, his voice faltering as he spoke.

"It is madness to stay here," added Taffril.

"It was worse than madness ever to have come!" said Lovel, following his
uncouth guide into the thicket. As he went up the valley he realised the
bitterness of remorse that comes too late. He had passed that way in the
morning, innocent, and now--he had the stain of blood upon his hands.

II. THE SEEKERS OF TREASURE

Edie guided him along a deep ravine till they came to a precipice of
rock overhung with brushwood and copse. Here completely concealed was
the mouth of a cave, where, as Edie said, they would be in perfect
safety. Only two other persons knew of its existence, and these two were
at present far away. The cavern was in the shape of a cross, and had
evidently been the abode of some anchorite of a time long past. In the
corner was a turning stair, narrow but quite passable, which
communicated with the chapel above--and so, by a winding passage in the
thickness of the wall, with the interior of the priory of St. Ruth.

Twilight faded into night, and the night itself wore