At this I laughed, I think, wondering the while if Anthony would ever know how much I loved and admired him. I remember a stretch of green turf screened by trees; a solemn pacing to and fro by various grave-faced persons; a careful measuring of distances and selection of ground. I remember some objection that Anthony made as to the light, whereupon the solemn measuring and pacing was gravely done all over again. I also recall that Anthony, while discussing or overseeing these grave proceedings, would often lift his head and glance hastily round about with a swift, keen-eyed expectancy. I remember the sun peeping forth at last to make the world glorious and warm the chill in my bones. And then Anthony came towards me, carrying a pistol, and I noticed that his hand shook as he offered it to me. "God love you, Perry," he said, a little huskily. "You look as unconcerned, as cool as--as a confounded cucumber! And now, Perry, remember to aim low, all pistols are apt to throw high--so, for heaven's sake aim low, old fellow." "Do I stand here, Anthony?" "Yes--damned fellow insists on twelve paces!" said he, his voice sounding hoarser than ever, and I saw his glance wandering again, here and there, to and fro, in almost desperate fashion. "Mr. Vere-Manville," called Devereux's second, "may I trouble you a moment, pray?" Left alone, I stood watching the play of sunshine amid the leaves, when I was roused by a touch and found Captain Danby beside me. "Your flint looks a trifle loose, sir," said he softly, "Suffer me!" I relinquished the weapon with a murmur of thanks and stood again absorbed until I felt the pistol thrust into my grasp and heard a loud voice speaking. "Pray attention, gentlemen! Take notice, the word will be 'one--two--'" The loud voice faltered suddenly, was lost in the trampling of horse's hoofs and into the grassy level between Devereux and myself rode my uncle Jervas with my uncle George close behind. My uncle Jervas reined in his horse and sat glancing serenely round about him, his lips curling in his bleak, sardonic smile, his prominent chin something more aggressive than usual. "Ah, gentlemen," said he gently. "Your humble servant, I bid you good morning. Sir Geoffrey Devereux, we are very well met--at last. This is a pleasure I much desired when--we were younger, as you will doubtless remember, but I imagined, until very recently, that you were dead, sir, and damned, and necessarily out of my reach. You have hidden yourself surpassingly well, sir."