“Well!” he said, “so those two amiable characters are still bent on making mince-meat of me, are they? Did you ever hear any thing like it? They are perfect tigers, thirsting for blood!” “Nothing more nor less,” I said; “the whole thing is like a romance.” “Is it not?” “A perfect labyrinth.” “The very word!” “And I have not a trace of a key.” Mohun looked at me for some moments in silence. He was evidently hesitating; and letting his eyes fall, played with the hilt of his sword. Then he suddenly looked up. “I have a confidence to make you, Surry,” he said, “and would like to make it this very day. But I cannot. You have no doubt divined that Colonel Darke is my bitter enemy--that his companion is no less, even more, bitter--and some day I will tell you what all that means. My life has been a strange one. As was said of Randolph of Roanoke’s, ‘the fictions of romance cannot surpass it.’ These two persons alluded to it--I understand more than you possibly can--but I do _not_ understand the allusions made to General Davenant. I am _not_ the suitor of his daughter--or of any one. I am not in love--I do not intend to be--to be frank with you, friend, I have little confidence in women--and you no doubt comprehend that this strange one whom you have thrice met, on the Rappahannock, in Pennsylvania, and near Buckland, is the cause.” “She seems to be a perfect viper.” “Is she not? You would say so, more than ever, if I told you what took place at Warrenton.” And again Mohun’s brows were knit together. Then his bitter expression changed to laughter. “What took place at Warrenton!” I said, looking at him intently. “Exactly, my dear friend--it was a real comedy. Only a poignard played a prominent part in the affair, and you know poignards belong exclusively to tragedy.” Mohun uttered these words with his old reckless satire. A sort of grim and biting humor was plain in his accents. “A poniard--a tragedy--tell me about it, Mohun,” I said. He hesitated a moment. “Well, I will do so,” he said, at length. “It will amuse you, my guest, while dinner is getting ready.” “I am listening.” “Well, to go back. You remember my fight with Colonel Darke near Buckland?” “Certainly; and I was sure that you had killed each other.”