"Appeal me no appeals," said the Major, with a truculent look. "No man shall appeal to Dick Querto till he is purged of such epitaphs." Confusion reigned. Le Gallais looked about him for a friendly face, and presently saw sympathy on that of a fellow-countryman and brother officer. "Captain Bisson," he said, "you will speak to Mr. Elliot's friend." Elliot flung out of the house, followed by Querto and two or three Royalist officers, Le Gallais, and Bisson in the rear. They walked towards the beach, and on their arriving at the foot of the Gallows Hill--near where the picquet-house now stands--an Irish officer came from Elliot's group and met Bisson, hat in hand. "Are the gentlemen to fight now?" he asked. "The sooner the better," answered Bisson. "Will it be a _pas de deux_, or will we all join the dance?" "Surely, a combat of two," gravely replied the islander. "We do not understand Paris fashions here. With you and me, sir, there need be no quarrel." "Sure, and we could have an elegant fight without quarrelling," muttered the Irishman, with a disappointed frown. "But 'anything for a quiet life' is my motto. This is a mighty fine place, I'm thinking, where two brave fellows can cut each other's throats in peace and without disturbance." Major Querto stood by with the air of an indispensable umpire. The _escrime_ of those days had not attained its later refinements. The combatants were placed opposite to each other, each flinging a cloak about his left arm, to serve as a shield, and they prepared to encounter in what would seem a fashion of "rough-and-tumble" to our modern masters. Both were brave men, and in the bloom of manhood. Elliot was the taller, but Le Gallais, some seven or eight years older, far exceeded in strength and weight. After scant ceremony the thrusting began. Feet trampled, steel rang. A furious pass from the Jerseyman was with difficulty caught in Elliot's cloak, and the sword for a moment hampered. Before Le Gallais could extricate it, Elliot, with a savage cry, ran in upon him, drawing back his elbow, so as to stab his adversary with a shortened sword. A scuffle ensued, of which no bystander could follow with his eye the full details, till the Scot's sword was seen to turn upwards, and the point to pierce his own throat. Each combatant fell backwards, Le Gallais bleeding from the left hand, and Elliot spouting black gore from a severed artery. At that instant cries name from the outside of the ring, "The guard!" On which the spectators hastened to disperse, while the Lieutenant-Governor rode up at the head of a mounted patrol. Elliot was taken from the ground in a dying state, and Le Gallais arrested, and ordered to Mont Orgueil, to await the arrival of the magistrate, who should make the preliminary inquiry.