Falconer and I stood each alone, while the seconds stepped off the paces and the surgeon lighted a small lantern which might enable him to throw, upon a possible wound, rays more to the purpose than the moon afforded. I was less agitated, I think, than the doctor himself, who was new to such an affair. I kept my mind upon the change wrought in the Faringfield household, upon the fate of Tom, upon what I imagined would be Philip's feelings; and I had a thought, too, for the disappointment of my old enemy Chubb if I could cap the firing signal with a shot the fraction of a second before my antagonist could. We were to stand with our backs toward each other, at the full distance, and, upon the word, might turn and fire as soon as possible. To be the first in wheeling round upon a heel, and covering the foe, was my one concern, and, as I took my place, I dismissed all else from my mind, to devote my entire self, bodily and mental, to that one series of movements: all else but one single impression, and that was of malicious exultation upon the face of Chubb. "You'll smile on t'other side of your face in a minute," thought I, pressing my teeth together. I was giving my hand its final adjustment to the pistol, when suddenly a man dashed out of the covert at one side of the hollow, and ran toward us, calling out in a gruff voice: "Hold on a minute. Here's su'thin' fur you, Ensign Russell." We had all turned at the first sound of the man's tread, fearing we had been spied upon and discovered. But I now knew there was no danger of that kind, for the voice belonged to old Bill Meadows. "What do you mean?" I asked sharply, annoyed at the interruption. "Nothin'. Read this here. I've follered yuh all evenin', thinkin' to ketch yuh alone. I gev my word to get it to yuh, fust thing; an' fur my own sake, I tried to do it unbeknownst. But now I must do it anyhow I ken. So take it, an' my compliments, an' I trust yuh to keep mum an' ask no questions, an' furget 'twas me brung it. And I'll keep a shet mouth about these here goings on. Only read it now, fur God's sake." He had handed me a sealed letter. My curiosity being much excited, I turned to Falconer, and said: "Will you grant me permission? 'Twill take but a moment." "Certainly," said he. "Ay," added Chubb, against all the etiquette of the situation, "it can be allowed, as you're not like to read any more letters." I tore it open, disdaining to reply in words to a gratuitous taunt I could soon answer by deed. The doctor having handed me his lantern, I held it in one hand, the letter in the other. The writing was that of Philip Winwood, and the letter read as follows: