The seconds withdrew, and the men eyed each other: Griffith dogged and pale, as before, Neville not nearly so self-assured; Griffith's bullet, in grazing him, had produced the effect of a sharp, cold, current of air no wider than a knife. It was like death's icy forefinger laid on his head, to mark him for the next shot; as men mark a tree; then come again and fell it. "One----two----three!" And Griffith's pistol missed fire, but Neville's went off, and Griffith's arm sank powerless, and his pistol rolled out of his hand. He felt a sharp twinge, and then something trickle down his arm. The surgeon and both seconds ran to him. "Nay, it is nothing," said he, "I shoot far better with my left hand than my right. Give me another pistol, and let me have fair play. He has hit me. And now I'll hit him." Both seconds agreed this was impossible. "It is the chance of war," said Major Rickards: "you cannot be allowed to take a cool shot at Mr. Neville. If you fire again, so must he." "The affair may very well end here," said Mr. Hammersley. "I understand there was some provocation on our side; and on behalf of the party insulted I am content to let the matter end, Mr. Gaunt being wounded." "I demand my second shot to his third," said Griffith sternly; "he will not decline, unless he is a poltroon as well as----what I called him." The nature of this reply was communicated to Neville, and the seconds, with considerable reluctance, loaded two more pistols; and during the process Major Rickards glanced at the combatants. Griffith, exasperated by his wound and his jealousy, was wearing out the chivalrous courage of his adversary; and the Major saw it. His keen eye noticed that Neville was getting restless, and looking confounded at his despised rival's pertinacity: and that Gaunt was more dogged, and more deadly. "My man will kill yours this time," said he, quietly, to Neville's second. "I can see it in his eye; he is hungry; t'other has had his bellyful." Once more the men were armed, and the seconds withdrew to their places, intimating that this was the last shot they would allow under any circumstances whatever. "Are you both ready?" {"Yes." {"Yes." A faint wail seemed to echo the response. All heard it, and in that superstitious age believed it to be some mysterious herald of death. It suspended even Major Packard's voice a minute. He recovered himself, however, and once more his soldier-like tones ran in the keen air:-- "One----" There was a great rushing, and a pounding of the hard ground, and a scarlet Amazon galloped in and drew up in the middle, right between the leveled pistols. Every eye had been so bent on the combatants, that Kate Peyton and her horse seemed to have sprung out of the very earth. And there she sat pale as ashes, on the steaming piebald, and glanced from pistol to pistol.