The Lion's Skin

by Rafael Sabatini

  CHAPTER X. SPURS TO THE RELUCTANT

  Before Mr. Caryll left White's--which he did at a comparatively earlyhour, that he might be at home to receive Lord Rotherby's friends--nota man present but had offered him his services in the affair he had uponhis hands. Wharton, indeed, was not to be denied for one; and for theother Mr. Caryll desired Gascoigne to do him the honor of representinghim.

  It was a fine, dry night, and feeling the need for exercise, Mr. Caryllset out to walk the short distance from St. James's Street to hislodging, with a link-boy, preceding him, for only attendant. Arrivedhome, he was met by Leduc with the information that Sir Richard Everardwas awaiting him. He went in, and the next moment he was in the arms ofhis adoptive father.

  Greetings and minor courtesies disposed of, Sir Richard came straight tothe affair which he had at heart. "Well? How speeds the matter?"

  Mr. Caryll's face became overcast. He sat down, a thought wearily.

  "So far as Lord Ostermore is concerned, it speeds--as you would wish it.So far as I am concerned"--he paused and sighed--"I would that it spednot at all, or that I was out of it."

  Sir Richard looked at him with searching eyes. "How?" he asked. "Whatwould you have me understand?"

  "That in spite of all that has been said between us, in spite of all thearguments you have employed, and with which once, for a little while,you convinced me, this task is loathsome to me in the last degree.Ostermore is my father, and I can't forget it."

  "And your mother?" Sir Richard's tone was sad, rather than indignant;it spoke of a bitter disappointment, not at the events, but at this manwhom he loved with all a father's love.

  "It were idle to go over it all again. I know everything that youwould--that you could--say. I have said it all to myself again andagain, in a vain endeavor to steel myself to the business to which youplighted me. Had Ostermore been different, perhaps it had been easier.I cannot say. As it is, I see in him a weakling, a man of inferiorintellect, who does not judge things as you and I judge them, whoselife cannot have been guided by the rules that serve for men of strongerpurpose."

  "You find excuses for him? For his deed?" cried Sir Richard, and hisvoice was full of horror now; he stared askance at his adoptive son.

  "No, no! Oh, I don't know. On my soul and conscience, I don't know!"cried Mr. Caryll, like one in pain. He rose and moved restlessly aboutthe room. "No," he pursued more calmly, "I don't excuse him. I blamehim--more bitterly than you can think; perhaps more bitterly even thando you, for I have had a look into his mind and see the exact place heldthere by my mother's memory. I can judge and condemn him; but I can'texecute him; I can't betray him. I don't think I could do it even if hewere not my father."

  He paused, and leaning his hands upon the table at which Sir Richardsat, he faced him, and spoke in a voice of earnest pleading. "SirRichard, this was not the task to give me; or, if you had planned togive it me, you should have reared me differently; you should not havesought to make of me a gentleman. You have brought me up to principlesof honor, and you ask me now to outrage them, to cast them off, and tobecome a very Judas. Is't wonderful I should rebel?"

  They were hurtful words to Sir Richard--the poor fanatic whose mind wasall unsound on this one point, who had lived in contemplation of hisvengeance as a fasting monk lives through Lent in contemplation of theEaster plenty. The lines of sorrow deepened in his face.

  "Justin," he said slowly, "you forget one thing. Honor is to be usedwith men of honor; but he who allows his honor to stand a barrierbetween himself and the man who has wronged him by dishonor, is nobetter than a fool. You speak of yourself; you think of yourself. Andwhat of me, Justin? The things you say of yourself apply in a likedegree--nay, even more--to me."

  "Ah, but you are not his son. Oh, believe me, I speak not hastily orlightly. I have been torn this way and that in these past days, untilat moments the burden has been heavier than I could bear. Once, fora little while, I thought I could do all and more than you expect ofme--the moment, indeed, in which I took the first step, and deliveredhim the letter. But it was a moment of wild heat. I cooled, andreflection followed, and since then, because so much was done, I havenot known an instant's peace of mind; I have endeavored to forget theposition in which I am placed; but I have failed. I cannot. And if I gothrough with this thing, I shall not know another hour in life that isnot poisoned by remorse."

  "Remorse?" echoed Sir Richard, between consternation and anger."Remorse?" He laughed bitterly. "What ails thee, boy? Do you pretendthat Lord Ostermore should go unpunished? Do you go so far as that?"

  "Not so. He has made others suffer, and it is just--as we understandjustice--that he should suffer in his turn. Though, when all is said, heis but a poor egotist, too dull-witted to understand the full vilenessof his sin. He is suffering, as it is--cursed in his son; for 'thefather of a fool hath no joy.' He hates this son of his, and his sondespises him. His wife is a shrew, a termagant, who embitters every hourof his existence. Thus he drags out his life, unloving and unloved, athing to evoke pity."

  "Pity?" cried Sir Richard in a voice of thunder. "Pity? Ha! As I've asoul, Justin, he shall be more pitiful yet ere I have done with him."

  "Be it so, then. But--if you love me--find some other hand to do thework."

  "If I love you, Justin?" echoed the other, and his voice softened, hiseyes looked reproachfully upon his adoptive child. "Needs there an 'if'to that? Are you not all I have--my son, indeed?"

  He held out his hands, and Justin took them affectionately and pressedthem in his own.

  "You'll put these weak notions from your mind, Justin, and prove worthythe noble lady who was your mother?"

  Mr. Caryll moved aside again, hanging his head, his face pale andtroubled. Where Everard's arguments must fail, his own affection forEverard was like to conquer him. It was very weak in him, he toldhimself; but then his love for Everard was strong, and he would fainspare Everard the pain he knew he must be occasioning him. Still he didbattle, his repugnance up in arms.

  "I would you could see the matter as I see it," he sighed. "This mangrown old, and reaping in his old age the fruits of the egotism he hassown. I do not believe that in all the world there is a single soulwould weep his lordship's death--if we except, perhaps, MistressWinthrop."

  "And do you pity him for that?" quoth Sir Richard coldly. "What righthas he to expect aught else? Who sows for himself, reaps for himself.I marvel, indeed, that there should be even one to bewail him--to sparehim a kind thought."

  "And even there," mused Mr. Caryll, "it is perhaps gratitude rather thanaffection that inspires the kindness."

  "Who is Mistress Winthrop?"

  "His ward. As sweet a lady, I think, as I have ever seen," saidMr. Caryll, incautious enthusiasm assailing him. Sir Richard's eyesnarrowed.

  "You have some acquaintance with her?" he suggested.

  Very briefly Mr. Caryll sketched for the second time that evening thecircumstances of his first meeting with Rotherby.

  Sir Richard nodded sardonically. "Hum! He is his father's son, not adoubt of that. 'Twill be a most worthy successor to my Lord Ostermore.But the lady? Tell me of the lady. How comes she linked with them?"

  "I scarce know, save from the scraps that I have heard. Her father, itwould seem, was Ostermore's friend, and, dying, he appointed Ostermoreher guardian. Her fortune, I take it, is very slender. Nevertheless,Ostermore, whatever he may have done by other people, appears in thiscase to have discharged his trust with zeal and with affection. But,indeed, who could have done other where that sweet lady was concerned?You should see her, Sir Richard!" He was pacing the room now as hespoke, and as he spoke he warmed to his subject more and more. "Sheis middling tall, of a most dainty slenderness, dark-haired, with a sosweet and saintly beauty of face that it must be seen to be believed.And eyes--Lord! the glory of her eyes! They are eyes that would lead aman into hell and make him believe it heaven,

  "'Love doth to her eyes repair To help him of his blindness.'"

>   Sir Richard watched him, displeasure growing in his face. "So!" he saidat last. "Is that the reason?"

  "The reason of what?" quoth Mr. Caryll, recalled from his sweet rapture.

  "The reason of these fresh qualms of yours. The reason of all thissympathy for Ostermore; this unwillingness to perform the sacred dutythat is yours."

  "Nay--on my soul, you do me wrong!" cried Mr. Caryll indignantly. "Ifaught had been needed to spur me on, it had been my meeting with thislady. It needed that to make me realize to the bitter full the wrong myLord Ostermore has done me in getting me; to make me realize that I am aman without a name to offer any woman."

  But Sir Richard, watching him intently, shook his head and fetched asigh of sorrow and disdain. "Pshaw, Justin! How we befool ourselves! Youthink it is not so; you try to think it is not so; but to me it is veryplain. A woman has arisen in your life, and this woman, seen but once ortwice, unknown a week or so ago, suffices to eclipse the memory of yourmother and turns your aim in life--the avenging of her bitter wrongs--towater. Oh, Justin, Justin! I had thought you stronger."

  "Your conclusions are all wrong. I swear they are wrong!"

  Sir Richard considered him sombrely. "Are you sure--quite, quite sure?"

  Mr. Caryll's eyes fell, as the doubt now entered his mind for the firsttime that it might be indeed as Sir Richard was suggesting. He was notquite sure.

  "Prove it to me, Justin," Everard pleaded. "Prove it by abandoning thisweakness where my Lord Ostermore is concerned. Remember only the wronghe has done. You are the incarnation of that wrong, and by your handmust he be destroyed." He rose, and caught the younger man's hands againin his own, forced Mr. Caryll to confront him. "He shall know when thetime comes whose hand it was that pulled him down; he shall know theNemesis that has lain in wait for him these thirty years to smite him atthe end. And he shall taste hell in this world before he goes to it inthe next. It is God's own justice, boy! Will you be false to the dutythat lies before you? Will you forget your mother and her sufferingsbecause you have looked into the eyes of this girl, who--"

  "No, no! Say no more!" cried Mr. Caryll, his voice trembling.

  "You will do it," said Sir Richard, between question and assertion.

  "If Heaven lends me strength of purpose. But it asks much," was thegloomy answer. "I am to see Lord Ostermore to-morrow to obtain hisanswer to King James' letter."

  Sir Richard's eyes gleamed. He released the other's hands, and turnedslowly to his chair again. "It is well," he said slowly. "The thing asksdispatch, or else some of his majesty's real friends may be involved."

  He proceeded to explain his words. "I have talked in vain withAtterbury. He will not abandon the enterprise even at King James'commands. He urges that his majesty can have no conception of how thematter is advanced; that he has been laboring like Hercules, and thatthe party is being swelled by men of weight and substance every day;that it is too late to go back, and that he will go forward withthe king's consent or without it. Should he or his agents approachOstermore, in the meantime, it will be too late for us to take suchmeasures as we have concerted. For to deliver up Ostermore then wouldentail the betrayal of others, which is not to be dreamt of. So you'lluse dispatch."

  "If I do the thing at all, it shall be done to-morrow," answered Mr.Caryll.

  "If at all?" cried Sir Richard, frowning again. "If at all?"

  Caryll turned to him. He crossed to the table, and leaning across it,until his face was quite close to his adoptive father's. "Sir Richard,"he begged, "let us say no more to-night. My will is all to do the thing.It is my--my instincts that rebel. I think that the day will be carriedby my will. I shall strive to that end, believe me. But let us say nomore now."

  Sir Richard, looking deep into Mr. Caryll's eyes, was touched bysomething that he saw. "My poor Justin!" he said gently. Then, checkingthe sympathy as swiftly as it rose: "So be it, then," he said briskly."You'll come to me to-morrow after you have seen his lordship?"

  "Will you not remain here?"

  "You have not the room. Besides, Sir Richard Everard--is too well knownfor a Jacobite to be observed sharing your lodging. I have no right atall in England, and there is always the chance of my being discovered.I would not pull you down with me. I am lodged at the corner of MaidenLane, next door to the sign of Golden Flitch. Come to me there to-morrowafter you have seen Lord Ostermore." He hesitated a moment. He wasimpelled to recapitulate his injunctions; but he forbore. He put out hishand abruptly. "Good-night, Justin."

  Justin took the hand and pressed it. The door opened, and Leduc entered.

  "Captain Mainwaring and Mr. Falgate are here, sir, and would speak withyou," he announced.

  Mr. Caryll knit his brows a moment. His acquaintance with both men wasof the slightest, and it was only upon reflection that he bethought himthey would, no doubt, be come in the matter of his affair with Rotherby,which in the stress of his interview with Sir Richard had been quiteforgotten. He nodded.

  "Wait upon Sir Richard to the door, Leduc," he bade his man. "Thenintroduce these gentlemen."

  Sir Richard had drawn back a step. "I trust neither of these gentlemenknows me," he said. "I would not be seen here by any that did. It mightcompromise you."

  But Mr. Caryll belittled Sir Richard's fears. "Pooh! 'Tis very unlike,"said he; whereupon Sir Richard, seeing no help for it, went out quickly,Leduc in attendance.

  Lord Rotherby's friends in the ante-room paid little heed to him ashe passed briskly through. Surveillance came rather from an entirelyunsuspected quarter. As he left the house and crossed the square, afigure detached itself from the shadow of the wall, and set out tofollow. It hung in his rear through the filthy, labyrinthine streetswhich Sir Richard took to Charing Cross, followed him along the Strandand up Bedford Street, and took note of the house he entered at thecorner of Maiden Lane.

  CHAPTER XI. THE ASSAULT-AT-ARMS

  The meeting was appointed by my Lord Rotherby for seven o'clock nextmorning in Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is true that Lincoln's Inn Fieldsat an early hour of the day was accounted a convenient spot for thetransaction of such business as this; yet, considering that it was inthe immediate neighborhood of Stretton House, overlooked, indeed, by thewindows of that mansion, it is not easy to rid the mind of a suspicionthat Rotherby appointed that place of purpose set, and with intent tomark his contempt and defiance of his father, with whom he supposed Mr.Caryll to be in some league.

  Accompanied by the Duke of Wharton and Major Gascoigne, Mr. Caryllentered the enclosure promptly as seven was striking from St. ClementDanes. They had come in a coach, which they had left in waiting at thecorner of Portugal Row.

  As they penetrated beyond the belt of trees they found that they werethe first in the field, and his grace proceeded with the major toinspect the ground, so that time might be saved against the coming ofthe other party.

  Mr. Caryll stood apart, breathing the freshness of the sunlit morning,but supremely indifferent to its glory. He was gloomy and preoccupied.He had slept ill that night after his interview with Sir Richard,tormented by the odious choice that lay before him of either breakingwith the adoptive father to whom he owed obedience and affection, orbetraying his natural father whom he had every reason to hate, yet whoremained his father. He had been able to arrive at no solution. Dutyseemed to point one way; instinct the other. Down in his heart he feltthat when the moment came it would be the behests of instinct that hewould obey, and, in obeying them, play false to Sir Richard and to thememory of his mother. It was the only course that went with honor; andyet it was a course that must lead to a break with the one friend he hadin the world--the one man who stood to him for family and kin.

  And now, as if that were not enough to plague him, there was thisquarrel with Rotherby which he had upon his hands. That, too, he hadbeen considering during the wakeful hours of that summer night. Had hereflected he must have seen that no other result could have followedhis narrative at White's last night; and yet it was a case in whichreflection would not ha
ve stayed him. Hortensia Winthrop's fair name wasto be cleansed of the smirch that had been cast upon it, and Justin wasthe only man in whose power it had lain to do it. More than that--ifmore were needed--it was Rotherby himself, by his aggressiveness, whohad thrust Mr. Caryll into a position which almost made it necessaryfor him to explain himself; and that he could scarcely have done by anyother than the means which he had adopted. Under ordinary circumstancesthe matter would have troubled him not at all; this meeting with such aman as Rotherby would not have robbed him of a moment's sleep. Butthere came the reflection--belatedly--that Rotherby was his brother, hisfather's son; and he experienced just the same degree of repugnance atthe prospect of crossing swords with him as he did at the prospect ofbetraying Lord Ostermore. Sir Richard would force upon him a parricide'stask; Fate a fratricide's. Truly, he thought, it was an enviableposition, his.

  Pacing the turf, on which the dew still gleamed and sparkleddiamond-like, he pondered his course, and wondered now, at the lastmoment, was there no way to avert this meeting. Could not the matter bearranged? He was stirred out of his musings by Gascoigne's voice, raisedto curse the tardiness of Lord Rotherby.

  "'Slife! Where does the fellow tarry? Was he so drunk last night thathe's not yet slept himself sober?"

  "The streets are astir," put in Wharton, helping himself to snuff. And,indeed, the cries of the morning hawkers reached them now from the foursides of the square. "If his lordship does not come soon, I doubt if wemay stay for him. We shall have half the town for spectators."

  "Who are these?" quoth Gascoigne, stepping aside and craning his neckto get a better view. "Ah! Here they come." And he indicated a group ofthree that had that moment passed the palings.

  Gascoigne and Wharton went to meet the newcomers. Lord Rotherby wasattended by Mainwaring, a militia captain--a great, burly, scarredbully of a man--and a Mr. Falgate, an extravagant young buck of hisacquaintance. An odder pair of sponsors he could not have found had hebeen at pains to choose them so.

  "Adso!" swore Mr. Falgate, in his shrill, affected voice. "I vow 'tisa most ungenteel hour, this, for men of quality to be abroad. I had mybeauty sleep broke into to be here in time. Lard! I shall be dozing allday for't!" He took off his hat and delicately mopped his brow with asquare of lace he called a handkerchief.

  "Shall we come to business, gentlemen?" quoth Mainwaring gruffly.

  "With all my heart," answered Wharton. "It is growing late."

  "Late! La, my dears!" clucked Mr. Falgate in horror. "Has your grace notbeen to bed yet?"

  "To save time," said Gascoigne, "we have made an inspection of theground, and we think that under the trees yonder is a spot not to bebettered."

  Mainwaring flashed a critical and experienced eye over the place. "Thesun is--So?" he said, looking up. "Yes; it should serve well enough,I--"

  "It will not serve at all," cried Rotherby, who stood a pace or twoapart. "A little to the right, there, the turf is better."

  "But there is no protection," put in the duke. "You will be underobservation from that side of the square, including Stretton House."

  "What odds?" quoth Rotherby. "Do I care who overlooks us?" And helaughed unpleasantly. "Or is your grace ashamed of being seen in yourfriend's company?"

  Wharton looked him steadily in the face a moment, then turned to hislordship's seconds. "If Mr. Caryll is of the same mind as his lordship,we had best get to work at once," he said; and bowing to them, withdrewwith Gascoigne.

  "See to the swords, Mainwaring," said Rotherby shortly. "Here, Fanny!"This to Falgate, whose name was Francis, and who delighted in thefeminine diminutive which his intimates used toward him. "Come help mewith my clothes."

  "I vow to Gad," protested Mr. Falgate, advancing to the task. "I makebut an indifferent valet, my dear."

  Mr. Caryll stood thoughtful a moment when Rotherby's wishes had beenmade known to him. The odd irony of the situation--the key to which hewas the only one to hold--was borne in upon him. He fetched a sigh ofutter weariness.

  "I have," said he, "the greatest repugnance to meeting his lordship."

  "'Tis little wonder," returned his grace contemptuously. "But since 'tisforced upon you, I hope you'll give him the lesson in manners that heneeds."

  "Is it--is it unavoidable?" quoth Mr. Caryll.

  "Unavoidable?" Wharton looked at him in stern wonder.

  Gascoigne, too, swung round to stare. "Unavoidable? What can you mean,Caryll?"

  "I mean is the matter not to be arranged in any way? Must the duel takeplace?"

  His Grace of Wharton stroked his chin contemplatively, his eye ironical,his lip curling never so slightly. "Why," said he, at length, "you maybeg my Lord Rotherby's pardon for having given him the lie. You mayretract, and brand yourself a liar and your version of the Maidstoneaffair a silly invention which ye have not the courage to maintain. Youmay do that, Mr. Caryll. For my own sake, let me add, I hope you willnot do it."

  "I am not thinking of your grace at all," said Mr. Caryll, slightlypiqued by the tone the other took with him. "But to relieve your mind ofsuch doubts as I see you entertain, I can assure you that it is out ofno motives of weakness that I boggle at this combat. Though I confessthat I am no ferrailleur, and that I abhor the duel as a means ofsettling a difference just as I abhor all things that are stupid andinsensate, yet I am not the man to shirk an encounter where an encounteris forced upon me. But in this affair--" he paused, then ended--"thereis more than meets your grace's eye, or, indeed, anyone's."

  He was so calm, so master of himself, that Wharton perceived howgroundless must have been his first notion. Whatever might be Mr.Caryll's motives, it was plain from his most perfect composure thatthey were not motives of fear. His grace's half-contemptuous smile wasdissipated.

  "This is mere trifling, Mr. Caryll," he reminded his principal, "andtime is speeding. Your withdrawal now would not only be damaging toyourself; it would be damaging to the lady of whose fair name you havemade yourself the champion. You must see that it is too late for doubtson the score of this meeting."

  "Ay--by God!" swore Gascoigne hotly. "What a pox ails you, Caryll?"

  Mr. Caryll took off his hat and flung it on the ground behind him."We must go on, then," said he. "Gascoigne, see to the swords with hislordship's friend there."

  With a relieved look, the major went forward to make the finalpreparations, whilst Mr. Caryll, attended by Wharton, rapidly divestedhimself of coat and waistcoat, then kicked off his light shoes, andstood ready, a slight, lithe, graceful figure in white Holland shirt andpearl-colored small clothes.

  A moment later the adversaries were face to face--Rotherby, divested ofhis wig and with a kerchief bound about his close-cropped head, all atrembling eagerness; Mr. Caryll with a reluctance lightly masked by adangerous composure.

  There was a perfunctory salute--a mere presenting of arms--and theblades swept round in a half-circle to their first meeting. ButRotherby, without so much as allowing his steel to touch his opponent's,as the laws of courtesy demanded, swirled it away again into thehigher lines and lunged. It was almost like a foul attempt to take hisadversary unawares and unprepared, and for a second it looked as if itmust succeed. It must have succeeded but for the miraculous quicknessof Mr. Caryll. Swinging round on the ball of his right foot, lightly andgracefully as a dancing master, and with no sign of haste or fear in hisamazing speed, he let the other's hard-driven blade glance past him, tomeet nothing but the empty air.

  As a result, by the very force of the stroke, Rotherby found himselfover-reached and carried beyond his point of aim; while Mr. Caryll'ssideward movement brought him not only nearer his opponent, but entirelywithin his guard.

  It was seen by them all, and by none with such panic as Rotherbyhimself, that, as a consequence of his quasi-foul stroke, the viscountwas thrown entirely at the mercy of his opponent thus at the very outsetof the encounter, before their blades had so much as touched each other.A straightening of the arm on the part of Mr. Caryll, and the engagementwould have
been at an end.

  Mr. Caryll, however, did not straighten his arm. He was observed tosmile as he broke ground and waited for his lordship to recover.

  Falgate turned pale. Mainwaring swore softly under his breath, in fearfor his principal; Gascoigne did the same in vexation at the opportunityMr. Caryll had so wantonly wasted. Wharton looked on with tight-pressedlips, and wondered.

  Rotherby recovered, and for a moment the two men stood apart, seemingto feel each other with their eyes before resuming. Then his lordshiprenewed the attack with vigor.

  Mr. Caryll parried lightly and closely, plying a beautiful weapon in thebest manner of the French school, and opposing to the ponderous forceof his antagonist a delicate frustrating science. Rotherby, a fineswordsman in his way, soon saw that here was need for all his skill, andhe exerted it. But the prodigious rapidity of his blade broke as upon acuirass against the other's light, impenetrable guard.

  His lordship broke ground, breathed heavily, and sweated under the glareof the morning sun, cursing this swordsman who, so cool and deliberate,husbanded his strength and scarcely seemed to move, yet by sheer skilland address more than neutralized his lordship's advantages of greaterstrength and length of reach.

  "You cursed French dog!" swore the viscount presently, between histeeth, and as he spoke he made a ringing parade, feinted, beat theground with his foot to draw off the other's attention, and went inagain with a full-length lunge. "Parry that, you damned maitre-d'armes"he roared.

  Mr. Caryll answered nothing; he parried; parried again; delivered ariposte whenever the opportunity offered, or whenever his lordship grewtoo pressing, and it became expedient to drive him back; but never oncedid he stretch out to lunge in his turn. The seconds were so lost inwonder at the beauty of this close play of his that they paid no heed towhat was taking place in the square about them. They never observed theopening windows and the spectators gathering at them--as Wharton hadfeared. Amongst these, had either of the combatants looked up, he wouldhave seen his own father on the balcony of Stretton House. A moment theearl stood there, Lady Ostermore at his side; then he vanished into thehouse again, to reappear almost at once in the street, with a couple offootmen hurrying after him.

  Meanwhile the combat went on. Once Lord Rotherby had attempted to fallback for a respite, realizing that he was winded. But Mr. Caryll deniedhim this, attacking now for the first time, and the rapidity of his playwas such that Rotherby opined--the end to be at hand, appreciated to thefull his peril. In a last desperate effort, gathering up what shredsof strength remained him, he repulsed Mr. Caryll by a vigorous counterattack. He saw an opening, feinted to enlarge it, and drove in quickly,throwing his last ounce of strength into the effort. This time it couldnot be said to have been parried. Something else happened. His blade,coming foible on forte against Mr. Caryll's, was suddenly enveloped.It was as if a tentacle had been thrust out to seize it. For the barestfraction of a second was it held so by Mr. Caryll's sword; then, easilybut irresistibly, it was lifted out of Rotherby's hand, and dropped onthe turf a half-yard or so from his lordship's stockinged feet.

  A cold sweat of terror broke upon him. He caught his breath with ahalf-shuddering sob of fear, his eyes dilating wildly--for Mr. Caryll'spoint was coming straight as an arrow at his throat. On it came and on,until it was within perhaps three inches of the flesh.

  There it was suddenly arrested, and for a long moment it was held therepoised, death itself, menacing and imminent. And Lord Rotherby, notdaring to move, rooted where he stood, looked with fascinated eyes alongthat shimmering blade into two gleaming eyes behind it that seemed towatch him with a solemnity that was grim to the point of mockery.

  Time and the world stood still, or were annihilated in that moment forthe man who waited.

  High in the blue overhead a lark was pouring out its song; but hislordship heard it not. He heard nothing, he was conscious of nothing butthat gleaming sword and those gleaming eyes behind it.

  Then a voice--the voice of his antagonist--broke the silence. "Is moreneeded?" it asked, and without waiting for a reply, Mr. Caryll loweredhis blade and drew himself upright. "Let this suffice," he said. "Totake your life would be to deprive you of the means of profiting by thislesson."

  It seemed to Rotherby as if he were awaking from a trance. The worldresumed its way. He breathed again, and straightened himself, too, fromthe arrested attitude of his last lunge. Rage welled up from his blacksoul; a crimson flood swept into his pallid cheeks; his eyes rolled andblazed with the fury of the mad.

  Mr. Caryll moved away. In that quiet voice of his: "Take up your sword,"he said to the vanquished, over his shoulder.

  Wharton and Gascoigne moved towards him, without words to express theamazement that still held Rotherby glared an instant longer withoutmoving. Then, doing as Mr. Caryll had bidden him, he stooped to recoverhis blade. A moment he held it, looking after his departing adversary;then with swift, silent stealth he sprang to follow. His fell intent waswritten on his face.

  Falgate gasped--a helpless fool--while Mainwaring hurled himself forwardto prevent the thing he saw impended. Too late. Even as he flung out hishands to grapple with his lordship, Rotherby's arm drove straight beforehim and sent his sword through the undefended back of Mr. Caryll.

  All that Mr. Caryll realized at first was that he had been struck a blowbetween the shoulder blades; and then, ere he could turn to inquire intothe cause, he was amazed to see some three inches of steel come throughhis shirt in front. The next instant an exquisite, burning, searingpain went through and through him as the blade was being withdrawn.He coughed and swayed, then hurtled sideways into the arms of MajorGascoigne. His senses swam. The turf heaved and rolled as if anearthquake moved it; the houses fronting the square and the treesimmediately before him leaped and danced as if suddenly launched intogrotesque animation, while about him swirled a wild, incoherent noiseof voices, rising and falling, now loud, now silent, and reaching himthrough a murmuring hum that surged about his ears until it shut out allelse and consciousness deserted him.

  Around him, meanwhile, a wild scene was toward.

  His Grace of Wharton had wrenched away the sword from Rotherby, andmastered by an effort his own impulse to use it upon the murderer.Captain Mainwaring--Rotherby's own second, a man of quick, fiercepassions--utterly unable to control himself, fell upon his lordship andbeat him to the ground with his hands, cursing him and heapingabuse upon him with every blow; whilst delicate Mr. Falgate, in thebackground, sick to the point of faintness, stood dabbing his lipswith his handkerchief and swearing that he would rot before he allowedhimself again to be dragged into an affair of honor.

  "Ye damned cutthroat!" swore the militia captain, standing over the manhe had felled. "D'ye know what'll be the fruits of this? Ye'll swingat Tyburn like the dirty thief y' are. God help me! I'd give a hundredguineas sooner than be mixed in this filthy business."

  "'Tis no matter for that now," said the duke, touching him on theshoulder and drawing him away from his lordship. "Get up, Rotherby."

  Heavily, mechanically, Rotherby got to his feet. Now that the fit ofrage was over, he was himself all stricken at the thing he had done. Helooked at the limp figure on the turf, huddled against the knee of MajorGascoigne; looked at the white face, the closed eyes and the stain ofblood oozing farther and farther across the Holland shirt, and, as whitehimself as the stricken man, he shuddered and his mouth was drawn widewith horror.

  But pitiful though he looked, he inspired no pity in the Duke ofWharton, who considered him with an eye of unspeakable severity. "If Mr.Caryll dies," said he coldly, "I shall see to it that you hang, my lord.I'll not rest until I bring you to the gallows."

  And then, before more could be said, there came a sound of runningsteps and labored breathing, and his grace swore softly to himself as hebeheld no other than Lord Ostermore advancing rapidly, all out of breathand apoplectic of face, a couple of footmen pressing close upon hisheels, and, behind these, a score of sightseers who had followed them. />
  "What's here?" cried the earl, without glancing at his son. "Is he dead?Is he dead?"

  Gascoigne, who was busily endeavoring to stanch the bleeding, answeredwithout looking up: "It is in God's hands. I think he is very like todie."

  Ostermore swung round upon Rotherby. He had paled suddenly, and hismouth trembled. He raised his clenched hand, and it seemed that he wasabout to strike his son; then he let it fall again. "You villain!" hepanted, breathless from running and from rage. "I saw it! I saw it all.It was murder, and, as God's my life, if Mr. Caryll dies, I shall see toit that you hang--I, your own father."

  Thus assailed on every side, some of the cowering, shrinking mannerleft the viscount. His antagonism to his father spurred him to a proudercarriage. He shrugged indifferently. "So be it," he said. "I have beentold that already. I don't greatly care."

  Mainwaring, who had been stooping over Mr. Caryll, and who had perhapsmore knowledge of wounds than any present, shook his head ominously.

  "'Twould be dangerous to move him far," said he. "'Twill increase thehemorrhage."

  "My men shall carry him across to Stretton House," said Lord Ostermore."Lend a hand here, you gaping oafs."

  The footmen advanced. The crowd, which was growing rapidly and waswatching almost in silence, awed, pressed as close as it dared uponthese gentlemen. Mainwaring procured a couple of cloaks and improviseda stretcher with them. Of this he took one corner himself, Gascoigneanother, and the footmen the remaining two. Thus, as gently as might be,they bore the wounded man from the enclosure, through the crowd thathad by now assembled in the street, and over the threshold of StrettonHouse.

  A groom had been dispatched for a doctor, and his Grace of Wharton hadcompelled Rotherby to accompany them into his father's house, sternlythreatening to hand him over to a constable at once if he refused.

  Within the cool hall of Stretton House they were met by her ladyshipand Mistress Winthrop, both pale, but the eyes of each wearing a vastlydifferent expression.

  "What's this?" demanded her ladyship, as they trooped in. "Why do youbring him here?"

  "Because, madam," answered Ostermore in a voice as hard as iron, "itimports to save his life; for if he dies, your son dies as surely--andon the scaffold."

  Her ladyship staggered and flung a hand to her breast. But her recoverywas almost immediate. "'Twas a duel--" she began stoutly.

  "'Twas murder," his lordship corrected, interrupting--"murder, as anyof these gentlemen can and will bear witness. Rotherby ran Mr. Caryllthrough the back after Mr. Caryll had spared his life."

  "'Tis a lie!" screamed her ladyship, her lips ashen. She turned toRotherby, who stood there in shirt and breeches and shoeless, as he hadfought. "Why don't you say that it is a lie?" she demanded.

  Rotherby endeavored to master himself. "Madam," he said, "here is noplace for you."

  "But is it true? Is it true what is being said?"

  He half-turned from her, with a despairing movement, and caught thesharp hiss of her indrawn breath. Then she swept past him to the side ofthe wounded man, who had been laid on a settle. "What is his hurt?" sheinquired wildly, looking about her. But no one spoke. Tragedy--morefar than the tragedy of that man's possible death--was in the air, andstruck them all silent. "Will no one answer me?" she insisted. "Is itmortal? Is it?"

  His Grace of Wharton turned to her with an unusual gravity in his blueeyes. "We hope not, ma'am," he said. "But it is as God wills."

  Her limbs seemed to fail her, and she sank down on her knees beside thesettle. "We must save him," she muttered fearfully. "We must save hislife. Where is the doctor? He won't die! Oh, he must not die!"

  They stood grouped about, looking on in silence, Rotherby in thebackground. Behind him again, on the topmost of the three steps that ledup into the inner hall, stood Mistress Winthrop, white of face, a wildhorror in the eyes she riveted upon the wounded and unconscious man.She realized that he was like to die. There was an infinite pity inher soul--and, maybe, something more. Her impulse was to go to him; herevery instinct urged her. But her reason held her back.

  Then, as she looked, she saw with a feeling almost of terror that hiseyes were suddenly wide open.

  "Wha--what?" came in feeble accents from his lips.

  There was a stir about him.

  "Never move, Justin," said Gascoigne, who stood by his head. "You arehurt. Lie still. The doctor has been summoned."

  "Ah!" It was a sigh. The wounded man closed his eyes a moment, thenre-opened them. "I remember. I remember," he said feebly. "It is--it isgrave?" he inquired. "It went right through me. I remember!" He surveyedhimself. "There's been a deal of blood lost. I am like to die, I takeit."

  "Nay, sir, we hope not--we hope not!" It was the countess who spoke.

  A wry smile twisted his lips. "Your ladyship is very good," said he. "Ihad not thought you quite so much my well-wisher. I--I have done youa wrong, madam." He paused for breath, and it was not plain whether hespoke in sincerity or in sarcasm. Then with a startling suddenness hebroke into a soft laugh and to those risen, who could not think what hadoccasioned it, it sounded more dreadful than any plaint he could haveuttered.

  He had bethought him that there was no longer the need for him to cometo a decision in the matter that had brought him to England, and hislaugh was almost of relief. The riddle he could never have solved forhimself in a manner that had not shattered his future peace of mind, wassolved and well solved if this were death.

  "Where--where is Rotherby?" he inquired presently.

  There was a stir, and men drew back, leaving an open lane to the placewhere Rotherby stood. Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile heldno tinge of mockery. "You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby," hestartled all by saying. "Let him approach," he begged.

  Rotherby came forward like one who walks in his sleep. "I am sorry," hesaid thickly, "cursed sorry."

  "There's scarce the need," said Mr. Caryll. "Lift me up, Tom," he beggedGascoigne. "There's scarce the need. You have cleared up something thatwas plaguing me, my lord. I am your debtor for--for that. It disposes ofsomething I could never have disposed of had I lived." He turned to theDuke of Wharton. "It was an accident," he said significantly. "You allsaw that it was an accident."

  A denial rang out. "It was no accident!" cried Lord Ostermore, and sworean oath. "We all saw what it was."

  "I'faith, then, your eyes deceived you. It was an accident, I say--andwho should know better than I?" He was smiling in that whimsicalenigmatic way of his. Smiling still he sank back into Gascoigne's arms.

  "You are talking too much," said the Major.

  "What odds? I am not like to talk much longer."

  The door opened to admit a gentleman in black, wearing a grizzle wig andcarrying a gold-headed cane. Men moved aside to allow him to approachMr. Caryll. The latter, not noticing him, had met at last the gaze ofHortensia's eyes. He continued to smile, but his smile was now changedto wistfulness under that pitiful regard of hers.

  "It is better so," he was saying. "Better so!"

  His glance was upon her, and she understood what none other theresuspected--that those words were for her alone.

  He closed his eyes and swooned again, as the doctor stooped to removethe temporary bandages from his wound.

  Hortensia, a sob beating in her throat, turned and fled to her own room.