"Very well; then I have but one answer. I challenge you. Choose your weapons, hour and place of meeting." "Revolvers, if you please. Meet me back of the grove yonder, at the right of the house, at daybreak." "I'll not fail you. There is no need of seconds in this affair, I take it, and we are to keep our purpose secret. Dr. Ackley would interfere and the family be distressed were our intentions known." "No one need know till our shots are heard and then it will be too late to interfere. I insist that we fight to the death." "Certainly, if that's your wish. Good-evening, sir." "Good-evening," and Whately went to his room to remove the dust of his ride and prepare for the late supper which his aunt had ordered for him. This lady, hearing his step in the hall, hastened downstairs and called for Zany. "Yassum," came in quick response. The young woman emerged from the dining-room looking as stolid as a wooden image. "Attend to Lieutenant Whately's supper and see that he has the best you can get for him." "Yassum." Mrs. Baron then repaired to her husband's office, where he and Surgeon Ackley were closeted, making up the accounts relating to the occupation of the property for hospital purposes. Maynard lighted his pipe, and strolled out into the grounds. He was in a cold, deadly mood of anger. There was just enough sting of truth in Whately's words to make the insult unendurable. Added to this was intense exasperation that he had been interrupted at a critical and, as he believed, a hopeful, moment. He had seen that the girl was not ready for his suit or that of any one at present, but was quite sure he could have won permission to renew his addresses in the future. Now--well, he was ready enough to fight to the death and utterly oblivious of the still, serene beauty of the night. He appeared but a shadow as he walked quietly under the trees, but it was a shadow of death. An hour since and he was but a passionate youth, full of ardent love and longing, vaguely inspired, under the influence of his passion, toward all noble enthusiasms. At the touch of a few words his heart overflowed with bitterness, and a cold, vindictive hate rendered the hours interminable till he could aim a bullet at his rival's heart, reckless meantime that another bullet was aimed at his. In his walk he passed the tent in which Lieutenant Waldo and his mother were talking quietly of their home and the prospects of maintaining it during the troublous times clearly foreseen. "Mother," said Waldo, "have you any definite idea as to the success of our arms?"