“Come, come,” said Linton, “you are giving the whole thing an importance it does not merit; just let the old peer have the pleasure of his bit of heroism, and it will all end as I have mentioned. They 'll leave this to-morrow early, reach Killaloe to breakfast, whence Kilgoff will start for the place of meeting, and, by ten o'clock, you 'll be there also. The only matter to arrange is, whom you 'll get Were it a real affair, I 'd say Upton, or Frobisher; but, here, it is a question of secrecy, not skill. I 'd advise, if possible, your having MacFarline.” “Sir Andrew?” said Cashel, half laughing. “Yes; his age and standing are precisely what we want here. He'll not refuse you; and if he should, it's only telling Lady Janet that we want to shoot Kilgoff, and she 'll order him out at once.” “I protest it looks more absurd than ever!” said Roland, impatiently. “That is merely your own prejudice,” said Linton. “You cannot regard single combat but as a life struggle between two men, equal not merely in arms, but alike in bodily energy, prowess, skill, and courage. We look on the matter here as a mere lottery, wherein the less expert as often draws the prize--But there, as I vow, that was two o'clock! It struck, and I promised to see Kilgoff again to-night. By the way, he 'll want horses. Where can he get them?” “Let him take mine; there are plenty of them, and he 'll never know anything of it.” “Very true. What an obliging adversary, that actually 'posts' his enemy to the ground!” “How am I to see MacFarline to-night?” “You 'll have to call him out of bed. Let Flint say there 's an orderly from Limerick with despatches; that Biddy Molowney won't pay her poor-rate, or Paddy Flanagan has rescued his pig, and the magistrates are calling for the Fifty-something and two squadrons of horse, to protect the police. You'll soon have him up; and, once up, his Scotch blood will make him as discreet as an arch-deacon. So, good-night; add a codicil to your will in favor of my Lady, and to bed.” With this Linton took his candle and retired. Cashel, once more alone, began to ponder over the difficulty of his position. The more he reasoned on the matter, the stronger appeared his fears that Lady Kilgoff's name would be compromised by a foolish and unmeaning quarrel; while, for himself, he saw nothing but ridicule and shame from his compliance. That omnipotent arbiter, “the World,” might indeed be satisfied, but Roland suspected that few of its better-judging members would hesitate to condemn a course as unfeeling as it was unwise. A quick, sharp knocking at the door of his room aroused him from his musings; it was Lady Kilgoff's maid, breathless and agitated. She came to say that Lord Kilgoff, after a scene of passionate excitement with her Ladyship, had been seized with paralysis, and that he was now lying powerless and unconscious on his bed. “Come, sir, for mercy's sake; come quickly. My Lady is distracted, nor can any of us think of what to do.”