“Colonel Geraldine and Doctor Noel,” he said, “will have the goodness to await me in this room. I wish no personal friend of mine to be involved in this transaction. Major O’Rooke, you are a man of some years and a settled reputation—let me recommend the President to your good graces. Lieutenant Rich will be so good as lend me his attentions: a young man cannot have too much experience in such affairs.” “Your Highness,” replied Brackenbury, “it is an honour I shall prize extremely.” “It is well,” returned Prince Florizel; “I shall hope to stand your friend in more important circumstances.” And so saying he led the way out of the apartment and down the kitchen stairs. The two men who were thus left alone threw open the window and leaned out, straining every sense to catch an indication of the tragical events that were about to follow. The rain was now over; day had almost come, and the birds were piping in the shrubbery and on the forest trees of the garden. The Prince and his companions were visible for a moment as they followed an alley between two flowering thickets; but at the first corner a clump of foliage intervened, and they were again concealed from view. This was all that the Colonel and the Physician had an opportunity to see, and the garden was so vast, and the place of combat evidently so remote from the house, that not even the noise of sword-play reached their ears. “He has taken him towards the grave,” said Dr. Noel, with a shudder. “God,” cried the Colonel, “God defend the right!” And they awaited the event in silence, the Doctor shaking with fear, the Colonel in an agony of sweat. Many minutes must have elapsed, the day was sensibly broader, and the birds were singing more heartily in the garden before a sound of returning footsteps recalled their glances towards the door. It was the Prince and the two Indian officers who entered. God had defended the right.