The surgeon nodded slightly. He was more discreet than his friend. When they had walked nearly a mile in the snow, the Major began to complain. "The devil!" said he; "this is queer walking. My boots are full of water. I shall catch my death." The surgeon smiled satirically, comparing silent Griffith's peril with his second's. Griffith took no notice. He went like Fortitude plodding to Execution. Major Rickards fell behind, and whispered Mr. Islip: "Don't like his looks; doesn't march like a winner. A job for you or the sexton, you mark my words." They toiled up Scutchemsee Nob, and when they reached the top, they saw Neville and his second, Mr. Hammersley, riding towards them. The pair had halters as well as bridles, and dismounting, made their nags fast to a large blackthorn that grew there. The seconds then stepped forward and saluted each other with formal civility. Griffith looked at the grey horse, and ground his teeth. The sight of the animal in Neville's possession stirred up his hate, and helped to steel his heart. He stood apart, still, pale and gloomy. The seconds stepped out fifteen paces, and placed the men. Then they loaded two pair of pistols, and put a pistol in each man's hand. Major Rickards took that opportunity to advise his principal. "Stand sharp. Keep your arm close to your side. Don't fire too high. How do you feel?" "Like a man who must die; but will try to die in company." The seconds now withdrew to their places, and the rivals held their pistols lowered: but fixed their deadly eyes on each other. The eye, in such a circumstance, is a terrible thing: it is literally a weapon of destruction; for it directs the deadly hand that guides the deadly bullet. Moreover the longer and the more steadily the duelist fixes his eye on his adversary, the less likely he is to miss. Griffith was very pale, but dogged. Neville was serious, but firm. Both eyed each other unflinchingly. "Gentlemen, are you ready?" asked Neville's second. {"Yes." {"Yes." "Then," said Major Rickards, "you will fire when I let fall this handkerchief, and not before. Mark me, gentlemen; to prevent mistakes, I shall say 'one----two----three'----and then drop the handkerchief. Now then, once more, are you quite ready?" {"Yes." {"Yes." "One------Two------Three."------He dropped the handkerchief, and both gentlemen fired simultaneously. Mr. Neville's hat spun into the air; Griffith stood untouched. The bullet had passed through Neville's hat, and had actually cut a lane through his magnificent hair. The seconds now consulted, and it was intimated to Griffith that a word of apology would be accepted by his antagonist. Griffith declined to utter a syllable of apology. Two more pistols were given the men. "Aim lower," said Rickards. "I mean to," said Griffith.