“I'm quite ready for anything when this is settled,” said Magennis, but with less composure than he desired to assume. “What I meant was, that for a blow there is but one reparation.” “Doubtless, if the injury admit of no explanation,” said the Major, calmly; “but in that lies the whole question. Consider two things, Captain Magennis: first of all, the equivocal appearance of _your_ friend, the age and standing of _mine_.” “By Jove! you'll kill me in trying to save my life,” said Repton, bursting into the room. “I didn't want to play eavesdropper, Froode, but these thin partitions are only soundboards for the voice. This gentleman,” added he, turning to Magennis, “is perfectly correct. There was a blow; and a blow has only one consequence, and that one I 'm ready for. There may be, for aught I know, twenty ways of settling these matters in London or at the clubs, but we 're old-fashioned in our notions in Ireland here; and I don't think that even when we pick up new fashions that we 're much the better for them, so that if your friend is here, Captain, and ready--” “Both, sir; here and ready!” “Then so am I; and now for the place. Come, Froode, you don't know Ireland as well as I do; just humor me this time, and whenever I get into a scrape in Scotland you shall have it all your own way. Eh, Captain, is n't that fair?” “Spoke like a trump!” muttered Magennis. “For _me_, did you say?” said Repton, taking a letter from the servant, who had just entered the room. “Yes, sir; and the groom says there's an answer expected.” “The devil take it, I 've forgotten my spectacles. Froode, just tell me what's this about, and who it comes from.” “It's Miss Martin's hand,” said Froode, breaking the seal and running over the contents. “Oh, I perceive,” said he; “they're afraid you have taken French leave of them at Cro' Martin, and she has driven into town to carry you back again.” “That comes of my leaving word at the little post-office to forward my letters to Dublin if not asked for to-morrow. Take a pen, Froode, and write a couple of lines for me; say that a very urgent call--a professional call--will detain me here to-day, but that if not back by dinner-time--Captain Magennis thinks it not likely,” added he, turning towards him as he sat, with a very equivocal expression, half grin, half sneer, upon his features--“that I 'll be with them at breakfast next morning,” resumed Repton, boldly. “Make some excuse for my not answering the note myself,--whatever occurs to you. And so, sir,” said he, turning to Magennis, “your friend's name is Massingbred. Any relation to Colonel Moore Massingbred?” “His son,--his only son, I believe.” “How strange! I remember the father in the 'House'--I mean the Irish House--five-and-thirty years ago; he was always on the Government benches. It was of him Parsons wrote those doggerel lines,--