“Then is the luck mine, for I know you right well, young sir!” “And for whom do you know me?” “For a d—d villain always!” the man answered, “two hours since, for Theresa Allan’s murderer! and now, thanks to this paper, which, please God, I shall keep, for Theresa Allan’s—husband!” He spoke the last words in a voice of thunder, and at the same time drew and cocked, at a single motion, a pistol with each hand. “You know too much—you know too much!” cried Jasper, furious but undaunted. “One of us two must die, ere either leaves this room.” “It was for that end I came hither! Look at me now, and know Durzil Bras-de-fer—Theresa Allan’s cousin! your wife’s rejected lover once, and now—your wife’s avenger!” “Away! I will not fight you!” “Then, coward, with my own hands will I hang you on the oak tree before your own door; and on your breast I will pin this paper, and under it will write, ‘HER MURDERER, taken in the fact, tried, condemned, executed by me, “‘DURZIL BRAS-DE-FER.’” “Never!” “Take up your pistols, then—they lie there on the table. We will turn, back to back, and walk each to his own end of the room, then turn and fire—if that do not the work, let the sword finish it.” “Amen!” said St. Aubyn, “and the Lord have mercy on your soul, for I will send it to your cousin in five minutes.” “And may the Fiend of Hell have yours—as he will, if there be either Fiend or God. Are you ready?” “Ay.” “Then off with you, and when you reach the wall, turn and fire.” And as he spoke, he turned away, and walked slowly and deliberately with measured strides toward the door by which he had entered. Before he had taken six steps, however, a bullet whistled past his ear, cutting a lock off his hair in its passage, and rebounded from the wall, flattened at his feet. Jasper had turned at once, and fired at him with deliberate aim. “Ha! double murderer! die in your treason!” and the sailor leveled his pistol in turn, and pulled the trigger; had it gone off, Jasper St. Aubyn’s days were ended then and there; but no flash followed the sparks from the flint—and he cast the useless weapon from him. At once they both raised their second pistol, and again Jasper’s was discharged with a quick, sharp report; and almost simultaneously with the crack, a dull sound, as of a blow, followed it; and he knew that his ball had taken effect on his enemy. Again Durzil’s pistol failed him; and then, for the first time, Jasper observed that the seaman’s clothes were soaked with water. He had swam that rapid stream, and followed his beloved Theresa’s murderer, almost with the speed of the stout horse that bore _him_ home. Not a muscle of Durzil’s face moved, not a sinew of his frame quivered, yet he was shot through the body, mortally—and he knew it. “Swords!” he cried, “swords!” And bounding forward, he met the youth midway, and at the first collision, sparks flew from the well-tempered blades.