Fernando had no more idea what he meant than if he had addressed him in Hindoo, and he gave the matter little or no further thought. He was in his room poring over his books the second day after the interview, when there came a rap at his door. "Come in!" he cried in his broad, western fashion. The door opened, and, to his surprise, a young English officer entered the apartment. "Is this Mr. Fernando Stevens?" he asked politely. "It is." "I am the bearer of a message from Lieutenant Matson." "Pray who is Lieutenant Matson?" "Of his majesty's ship the _Xenophon_." Fernando thought he must be mistaken, as he had not the least recollection of ever hearing of Lieutenant Matson; but the ensign assured him that he was the person with whom the lieutenant had to deal, and then asked if he could refer him to some friend with whom the business might be arranged. Then the youthful American remembered Terrence Malone's strange instructions and sent the ensign at once to the young Irishman. Just how Terrence would settle the matter, he did not know; but he who had such remarkable ability for getting one into a scrape could surely devise some means to get him out, and Fernando was perfectly willing to trust him. So, deeming the matter wholly settled, he sat down to his books once more, and had actually forgotten the officer, when Terrence bolted into the room his face expressive of anxiety. "It's all arranged, me boy. Ye did right in lavin' it to me. The young Britisher and I have made all arrangements." "Arrangements? what arrangements?" asked Fernando with guileless innocence. "Arrangements for the meeting, to be sure." "What meeting?" "Meeting with Lieutenant Matson." Throwing down his book, Fernando started up impatiently said: "I don't want to meet the infernal lieutenant. I thought you had settled it." "So I did, and right dacintly, too. Now what weapons do ye want?" "Weapons!" cried Fernando, the truth at last beginning to dawn upon him. "Great Heavens! Terrence, do you mean a duel?" "Certainly, me frind, nothin' ilse. There's no way to get out of it, honorably." Fernando reeled as if he had been struck a blow. He had read of duels, but, in the solitude of his western home on the farm, he had never known of any. They were the bloody inventions of more polite civilization. One had been fought between two trappers at a trading post, not over forty miles away, in which rifles at thirty paces were used, and both men were killed. The preacher had said it was murder. Fernando was brave; but he shrank from a duel, and it was not until his pride had been appealed to, that he determined to fight. Then Terrence assured him the lieutenant's friend was waiting; all that was wanting was the weapons. "I must talk with Sukey." Sukey was sent for, and when the tall, lanky fellow entered the apartment, Fernando told him all. "Don't you be in the game, Fernando. Let me tell you, don't you be in it," Sukey answered.