"Oh! you'll see four tall fir-trees, and a big stone. It won't be light yet. I'll tell you what. I'll lend you my lanthorn. Here, it's trimmed! You can carry it along." Griselda hesitated as the woman went on: "Take the road straight as a line from the church. Then you'll come to cross-roads. You follow on with the one which leads to the right hand, and you'll come to the firs and the big stone. The ground where the fine lord's body lay for hours is just hard by. Will you have the lanthorn; you can leave it as you come back?" "No, I think not--I think not; but thank you kindly." And then Griselda pressed on--on to the church, on, as she was directed, along a lonely road, till the tall sign-post was reached, with the four arms painted white, stretching out in four directions. On then to the right, eastward, for the first faint pallor of the dawn was in the sky. It was clear now, and the moon in its last quarter was hanging low in the horizon. Griselda's feet ached, and when she saw the tall fir-trees, and the large rough stone, she hastened towards it, and sat down to rest. All was still; the silence broken only by the murmur in the dark plumes of the fir-trees as the crisp cold air wandered through the branches. The silence was so profound that Griselda could almost hear the beating of her heart. Here alone, unprotected, she could hardly realize her own position. Whatever happened to her, she thought, there was no one who would care so very much, except him whom she had come to save. Lady Betty would cry hysterically, but be more angry than sorry; little Norah--poor little Norah--perhaps she loved her; and Graves--faithful Graves. Presently there was a rumbling sound as of distant wheels. Griselda started up, but she saw nothing. Then she advanced from the shadow of the trees, and looked over the open space. The dawn was breaking now, and she saw two figures stooping over the ground, and apparently marking it. In breathless anxiety she waited and watched. She was too far off to distinguish the men, but she presently discerned four more figures appearing at the ridge of rising ground, where the Down dipped rather sharply to the valley below. Then there were two figures isolated a little from the rest. They seemed to meet and part again, and then Griselda waited no longer. She ran forward and skimmed the turf with fleet steps--steps that were quickened by a great fear. Breathless and voiceless she reached the spot just as the two combatants' swords had clashed, and the seconds on either side had given the signal for another round. Griselda went up to Leslie Travers and seized his arm. "Stop!" she said, "for my sake." Her appearance seemed to paralyze both combatants. "It is for your sake," Leslie said in a low voice. "Let go, my love--let go! I must carry this on to the bitter end." "You shall not! Desist, sir!" she said, turning upon Sir Maxwell Danby. Then the seconds drew near, and the doctor, Mr. Cheyne.