“You presume to be a gentleman, then?” said Repton. “I have not heard the matter disputed before,” said Jack, with an easy smile, while he leisurely bound the handkerchief round his head. “And of course, you look for satisfaction for this?” “I trust that there can be no mistake upon that point, at least,” replied he. “And you shall have it, too; though, hang me, if I well know whether you should not receive it at the next assizes,--but you shall have it. I 'll go into Oughterard this day; I 'll be there by nine o'clock, at the Martin Arms.” “That will do,” said Massingbred, with a coolness almost like indifference; while he resumed his gun, which he had thrown down, and proceeded to load the second barrel. “You are aware that you are poaching here?” said Repton,--“that this is part of the Martin estate, and strictly preserved?” “Indeed! and I thought it belonged to Magennis,” said Jack, easily; “but a preserve without a gamekeeper, or even a notice, is a blockade without a blockading squadron.” And without a word more, or any notice of the other, Massingbred shouldered his gun and walked away. It was some time before Repton could summon resolution to leave the spot, such was the conflict of thoughts that went on within him. Shame and sorrow were, indeed, uppermost in his mind, but still not unmingled with anger at the consummate ease and coolness of the other, who by this line of conduct seemed to assume a tone of superiority the most galling and insulting. In vain did he endeavor to justify his act to himself,--in vain seek to find a plausible pretext for his anger. He could not, by all his ingenuity, do so, and he only grew more passionate at his own failure. “Another would hand him over to the next justice of the peace,--would leave him to quarter sessions; but not so Val Repton. No, by Jove, he 'll find a man to his humor there, if he wants fighting,” said he, aloud, as he turned his horse about and rode slowly back. It was already dusk when he joined Miss Martin, who, uneasy at his prolonged absence, had entered the wood in search of him. It required all the practised dissimulation of the old lawyer to conceal the signs of his late adventure; nor, indeed, were his replies to her questions quite free from a certain amount of inconsistency. Mary, however, willingly changed the subject, and led him back to speak of topics more agreeable and congenial to him. Still he was not the same sprightly companion who had ridden beside her in the morning. He conversed with a degree of effort, and, when suffered, would relapse into long intervals of silence. “Who inhabits that bleak-looking house yonder?” said he, suddenly. “A certain Mr. Magennis, a neighbor, but not an acquaintance, of ours.” “And how comes it that he lives in the very middle, as it were, of the estate?” “An old lease, obtained I can't say how many centuries back, and which will expire in a year or two. He has already applied for a renewal of it.”