"Your conduct towards Miss Deane has been that of a dishonourable blackguard; towards Mr Lacey, that of a sharper and a cheat. You see, I know; but I am willing to spare you, for your mother's sake. You will at once communicate with your lawyers, and tell them your assumption of the property and title has been a mistake, and that you are willing to surrender all claims at once." "Poor fellow!" said Mark, softly, as he stood with his hands in his jacket pockets and with a peculiar thin smile upon his tightened lips; "the result of the fever. What a fancy to get into his head!" "Do you mean to take that line?" said Richard. "Think better of it, and give it up. It will save you trouble, your mother pain, and I promise you that I will not be ungenerous toward you." "How singular these crazes are!" said Mark, softly, as if speaking to himself. "Then you mean to fight me?" said Richard. "My poor fellow, what nonsense you have got into your bewildered head! I had a cousin, Sir Richard Frayne, who once, in a mad fit, attacked me, and afterwards threw himself into a river, and was drowned." "And was not drowned," said Richard, quietly. "Yes, he was drowned. They found the body, and he was buried close to his estate, and in the church there is a handsome monument to his memory, saying kindly things that he did not deserve, for he committed suicide in remorse for having obtained money by false pretences." "You are an unmitigated scoundrel, Mark!" said Richard, with his brow now knit angrily. "Once more, will you accept my terms?" "He is dead and buried," said Mark, with his eyes more than half-shut now; "and if Richard Frayne rose from the dead no one would believe his tale." "Will you accept my terms, or must I denounce you as one who has proved treacherous to his friend, acted like a blackleg at cards, and who obtained a hundred pounds by forging his cousin's name, and whose title and estate he now holds?" Mark stood there, white as a sheet, glaring at the speaker. "How will you stand then, Mark, with officers and men of honour. Take my offer before you fall." "I tell you," whispered Mark huskily, "that Richard Frayne is dead, and that you are an impostor." "And I tell you that I will have no mercy now," cried Richard, excitedly. "I tried to spare you, but this life is intolerable since you came here. Once more, will you accept my terms?" "Impostor!" "Then take your chance!" "Take yours!" cried Mark, in the same low whisper, as he snatched a revolver from his pocket and fired quickly at his cousin, who sprang back, dragged a hop-pole from the side of the alley, snapping it in two, and, wild with agony and excitement, made a rush at Mark, who met it by standing firm, now taking aim at his cousin's head. But he did not fire; for all at once Richard's knees gave way, the stout pole fell from his grasp, and, flinging up his hands, he swayed over backward with a crash, bearing down a portion of the hop-bine as he fell.