Cicely and I looked at each other. It was seven o'clock. The duel was to take place at eleven. Could I seek out Lord Chudleigh? No; his honour was concerned. Or Sir Miles? But the honest baronet looked on a duel as a necessity of life, which might happen at any time to a gentleman, though he himself preferred a bout with cudgels. Presently Cicely spoke. "I once heard," she said, "a story." "Child, this is no time for telling stories." "Let me tell it first, Miss Kitty. Nay, it is not a silly story. A gentleman once had planned to carry off a great heiress." "What has that to do with Lord Chudleigh? He does not want to carry me off." "The gentleman was a wicked man and an adventurer. He only wanted the lady's money. One of her friends, a woman it was, found out the plot. She wanted to prevent it without bloodshed, or murder, or duelling, which would have happened if it had been prevented by any stupid interference of clumsy men----" "O Cicely! get on with the story." "She did prevent it. And how do you think?" "How?" Cicely ran and shut the door, which was ajar. Then she looked all about the room and under the bed. "It was a most dreadful wicked thing to do. Yet to save a friend or a lover, I would even do it." "What was it, Cicely?" "I must whisper." * * * * * "Quick! give me my hood, child." She put it on and tied it with trembling fingers, because we were really going to do a most desperate thing. "Is the house on the road, Cicely? Cannot he go by another way?" "No; he cannot go by any other way." "Say not a word, Cicely. Let not madam think or suspect anything."