"Of course it would, Sir. But you are not thinking of anything like a duel here--you can't be so mad as to think of it." "Certainly not. And now you can pack that small portmanteau, while I take a stretch. I sha'n't take off my clothes: a man who has to be up before six should never trifle with his feelings by making believe to go to bed." CHAPTER XII. "SHE STOOD UP IN BITTER CASE, WITH A PALE YET STEADY FACE." The silence of night and slumber came down upon the world, shadow and darkness were folded round and about it. The ticking of the old eight-day clock in the hall, of the bracket clock in the corridor, and of half a dozen other time-pieces, conscientiously performing in empty rooms, took that solemn and sepulchral sound which all clocks, down to the humblest Dutchman, assume after midnight. Sleep, peace, and silence seemed to brood over all human and brute life at Mount Royal. Yet there were some who had no thought of sleep that night. In Mr. Tregonell's dressing-room there was the light of lamp and fire, deep into the small hours. The master of the house lolled, half-dressed, in an armchair by the hearth; while his friend, Captain Vandeleur, in smoking-jacket and slippers, lounged with his back to the chimney-piece, and a cigarette between his lips. A whisky bottle and a couple of siphons stood on a tray on the Squire's writing-table, an open pistol-case near at hand. "You'd better lie down for a few hours," said Captain Vandeleur. "I'll call you at half-past five." "I'd rather sit here. I may get a nap by-and-by perhaps. You can go to bed if you are tired: I sha'n't oversleep myself." "I wish you'd give up this business, Tregonell," said his friend, with unaccustomed seriousness. "This man is a dead shot. We heard of him in Bolivia, don't you remember? A man who has spent half his life in shooting-galleries, and who has lived where life counts for very little. Why should you stake your life against his? It isn't even betting: you're good enough at big game, but you've had very little pistol practice. Even if you were to kill him, which isn't on the cards, you'd be tried for murder; and where's the advantage of that?" "I'll risk it," answered Leonard, doggedly, "I saw him with my wife's hand clasped in his--saw him with his lips close to her face--close enough for kisses--heard her promise him an answer--to-morrow. By Heaven there shall be no such to-morrow for him and for me. For one of us there shall be an end of all things." "I don't believe Mrs. Tregonell is capable"--began Jack, thoughtfully mumbling his cigarette.