“Nay, that will lame him for life,” said Lord Borodaile, putting on his cravat with peculiar exactitude. “Serve him right,” said Mr. Bobus. “Hang him, I never got up so early in my life: it is quite impossible to eat at this hour. Oh!--a propos, Borodaile, have you left any little memoranda for me to execute?” “Memoranda!--for what?” said Borodaile, who had now just finished his toilet. “Oh!” rejoined Mr. Percy Bobus, “in case of accident, you know: the man may shoot well, though I never saw him in the gallery.” “Pray,” said Lord Borodaile, in a great though suppressed passion, “pray, Mr. Bobus, how often have I to tell you that it is not by Mr. Linden that my days are to terminate: you are sure that Carabine saw to that trigger?” “Certain,” said Mr. Percy, with his mouth full, “certain. Bless me, here’s the carriage, and breakfast not half done yet.” “Come, come,” cried Borodaile, impatiently, “we must breakfast afterwards. Here, Roberts, see that we have fresh chocolate and some more cutlets when we return.” “I would rather have them now,” said Mr. Bobus, foreseeing the possibility of the return being single: “Ibis! redibis?” etc. “Come, we have not a moment to lose,” exclaimed Borodaile, hastening down the stairs; and Mr. Percy Bobus followed, with a strange mixture of various regrets, partly for the breakfast that was lost and partly for the friend that might be. When they arrived at the ground, Clarence and the duke were already there: the latter, who was a dead shot, had fully persuaded himself that Clarence was equally adroit, and had, in his providence for Borodaile, brought a surgeon. This was a circumstance of which the viscount, in the plenitude of his confidence for himself and indifference for his opponent, had never once dreamed. The ground was measured; the parties were about to take the ground. All Linden’s former agitation had vanished; his mien was firm, grave, and determined: but he showed none of the careless and fierce hardihood which characterized his adversary; on the contrary, a close observer might have remarked something sad and dejected amidst all the tranquillity and steadiness of his brow and air. “For Heaven’s sake,” whispered the duke, as he withdrew from the spot, “square your body a little more to your left and remember your exact level. Borodaile is much shorter than you.”