"Will you please to understand, sir," I broke in, "that Mr. Temple is really delayed by an accident--it happened to him on his way here, and was entirely unforeseen by him, and was one which he could neither prevent nor expect? If a woman had any honour, in your sense, I would give you my word of honour that this is so." "Under these circumstances," the gallant officer said, "I do not see why we are waiting here. Mr. Temple will, of course, tell his own story in his own way, and unless the fight takes place on the original quarrel, why, he may find another second. Such a lame ending I never experienced." "And that," interposed Sir Miles, who surely was the most good-natured of men, "that reminds me, my good sir, that in this matter, unless we would make bad worse, we all of us had better make up our minds to tell no story at all, but leave it to Mr. Temple. Wherefore, if it please you, I will walk to the town in your company, there to contradict any idle gossip we may hear, and to lay upon the back of the rightful person, either with cudgels or rapiers, any calumny which may be attached to Mr. Temple's name. But, no doubt, he is strong enough to defend himself." "Really, Sir Miles," said the officer with a sneer, "I wonder you do not fight for him yourself. Here is your principal, Lord Chudleigh, ready for you." "Sir, he is not my friend, but the friend of Miss Pleydell. He is, as I believe you or any other person who may quarrel with him would find, perfectly well able to fight his own battles. Meantime I am ready to fight my own, as is already pretty well known." With that they both walked off the field, not together, but near each other, the officer in a great huff and Sir Miles rolling along beside him, big and good-tempered, yet, like a bull-dog, an ugly dog to tackle. Lord Chudleigh and I were left alone upon the Downs. "Kitty," he cried, "what does this mean?" "That there is to be no fighting between you and Harry Temple. That is what it means, my lord. Oh, the wickedness of men!" "But where is he? what is the accident? What does your presence mean? Did he send you?" I laughed, but could not tell him. Then I reflected that the errand on which he had come was no laughing matter, and I became grave again. "My lord," I said, "is it well to tell a girl one day that you love her, and the next to come out to fight with swords about a trifle? Do you think nothing of a broken heart?" "My dear," he replied, "it was forced upon me, believe me. A man must fight if he is insulted openly. There is no help for it till customs change." "Oh!" I cried; "can that man be in his senses who hopes to win a woman's heart by insulting and trying to kill--her--her lover?" "Yes, Kitty." He caught my hand and kissed it. "Your lover--your most unhappy lover! who can do no more than say he loves you, and yet can never hope to marry you. How did I dare to open my heart to you, my dear, with such a shameful story to tell?"