"Dear! dear!" exclaimed Mr. Dickinson. "Women are the bottom of half the mischief that is brewed in the world, I do believe." Mr. Dickinson had not been gone long before Mr. Beresford arrived. He ran in to the Herschels to excuse himself from accompanying them to Bristol, saying he had urgent business, and then returned to his friend. All the arrangements were made, and the utmost secrecy agreed on. "No one need know"--hesitating--"certainly not Miss Mainwaring or my mother. I will employ to-day in setting my house in order, and leave letters behind me." "Don't say 'behind me,' man. Hundreds of people who fight do not get a scratch. You will be all right, and marry the lady, and live happy ever after." "I am in no jesting mood, Beresford; and although you profess to look on the whole affair as a joke, you do not do so, in your secret heart. You do not forget, any more than I do, that last month we walked together to Claverton Down to see the spot where Viscount Barre asked for his life of Count Rice, not much over a year ago."[1] [Footnote 1: See "DUELLING ON CLAVERTON DOWN." ] "Ah! that was a different matter. We are to have no pistols, only a little sword-play. I hope one of Danby's evil eyes may be put out, and, better still, his tongue slit. Aim at his mouth, with that end in view. Yes, try for the mouth and eyes, Travers." "Has the matter got wind in Bath?" Leslie asked. "Oh! the gossips have got hold of the quarrel. But dear heart, man, there is seldom a day but there is a war of words in the Assembly or Pump Room." Leslie Travers spent the rest of the day in his room, excusing himself to his mother on the plea of indisposition. And, indeed, she was too much occupied with a prayer-meeting at the Countess of Huntingdon's house to do more than pay Leslie a visit at intervals, see that his fire burned brightly, and exhort him to take the soup and wine she carried to him herself. Thus, all unconscious of the sword which was hanging over her, gentle Mrs. Travers went on her way. Unconscious, too, of trouble affecting their near neighbour and friend, Mr. and Miss Herschel were at Bristol, rehearsing, amidst the congratulations of the audience privileged to be present, the great oratorio to be performed in a few days under the _baton_ of Ronzini, who was to conduct it. Unconscious of the peril in which Leslie Travers stood, Griselda was occupied with the event of the previous night--her father's death--and the necessary confession to Leslie Travers, of her relationship to the dying man, by whose bedside they had watched together. The house in North Parade was unusually quiet that day, for Lady Betty had caught cold, and kept Graves in perpetual attendance. A few visitors arrived, but were refused admittance, and Griselda waited in vain for any message from Leslie Travers. She had begun several letters to him, and then torn them into fragments.