Tom spoke rude words of encouragement to her. She did not even seem to hear them. Then he lost all patience at her, and clutched her arm to make her hear him. But at that it seemed as if some of his nature passed into her down his arm, for she turned wild directly and urged her horse fiercely up the crest. Her progress was slow at first; but the sun had melted the snow on the Nob or extreme summit. She tore her way through the last of the snow on to the clear piece, then, white as ashes, spurred and lashed her horse over the ridge and dashed in amongst them on the other side. For there they were. What was the sight that met her eyes? That belongs to the male branch of my story, and shall be told forthwith, but in its proper sequence. CHAPTER VI The two combatants came to the field in a very different spirit. Neville had already fought two duels, and been successful in both. He had confidence in his skill, and in his luck. His conscience too was tolerably clear: for he was the insulted person; and, if a bullet should remove this dangerous rival from his path, why all the better for him, and all the worse for the fool who had brought the matter to a bloody issue, though the balance of the lady's heart inclined his way. He came in high spirits, and rode upon Kate Peyton's grey, to sting his adversary, and show his contempt of him. Not so Griffith Gaunt. His heart was heavy, and foreboded ill. It was his first duel, and he expected to be killed. He had played a fool's game, and he saw it. The night before the duel he tried hard to sleep: he knew it was not giving his nerves fair play to lie thinking all night. But coy sleep, as usual when most wanted, refused to come. At daybreak the restless man gave it up in despair, and rose and dressed himself. He wrote that letter to Catherine, little thinking it would fall into her hands while he lived. He ate a little toast and drank a pint of Burgundy; and then wandered listlessly about till Major Rickards, his second, arrived. That experienced gentleman brought a surgeon with him; Mr. Islip. Major Rickards deposited a shallow wooden box in the hall; and the two gentlemen sat down to a hearty breakfast. Griffith took care of his guests, but beyond that spoke scarcely a word; and the surgeon, after a ghastly attempt at commonplaces, was silent too. Major Rickards satisfied his appetite first, and then, finding his companions dumb, set to work to keep up their spirits. He entertained them with a narrative of the personal encounters he had witnessed, and especially of one in which his principal had fallen on his face at the first fire, and the antagonist had sprung into the air, and both had lain dead as door nails, and never moved, nor even winked, after that single discharge. Griffith sat under this chilling talk for more than an hour. At last he rose gloomily, and said it was time to go. "Got your tools, doctor?" inquired the Major.