"Then, Macdonald," said Chisholm, "all hopes of an accommodation are at an end?" "Quite: your principal is much to blame. But we must be expeditious,—see how red the horizon is; the drums will beat in ten minutes." During the measuring of the ground and the loading of the pistols, Ronald fixed his eyes on the saffron east, where the sun was about to rise in all its splendour above the mountains of Castile. Appearing black between him and the glowing sky rose the grassy height, crowned by the black old ruins of the castle of San Servan, that fortress so famous in romance, where "Ruy, the Cid Campeador," was wont to spend the night in prayer and vigil. The sky was seen through its embrasured towers and empty windows, brightening in a blaze of glory all around, and giving promise of another day. Ronald gazed eastward wistfully. In ten minutes more the sun would be up, but by that time the eyes of either Lisle or himself might be sealed for ever. Ronald pictured what would be the emotions of Alice if her brother was slain, because she loved him well. He thought of his father, too; and remembered painfully that he would almost exult, if young Lisle was slain in this contest. His reverie was interrupted by Alister. "All is ready,—Lisle has taken his ground," said he, putting into Ronald’s hand the cold steel butt of the Highland pistol. "For Heaven’s sake, or rather for your own, appear a little more collected. Lisle seems determined to shoot you, in revenge for your neglect of his sister." "You have mentioned the only thing which can unnerve and unman me. Chisholm has told you, I suppose?" "Yes. An explanation might yet clear up this business." "I scorn to ask it now!" "Are you ready?" cried Chisholm, who had posted Lisle fourteen paces off. "All ready." "Stand aside, Macdonald. I believe that I must give the word." "As you please." Alister retired, but, like Chisholm’s, his heart was filled with a painful feeling of suspense and dread. The fatal word was given, and the report of both pistols instantaneously followed. Ronald fired into the air, but reeled backwards a few paces, and sunk on the road-way. Louis’s stern look immediately relaxed, and he rushed towards him, tossing wildly away the other pistol. "Heaven be merciful and look down on me, I have killed him! O Stuart, Ronald Stuart! speak to me," and he knelt over him with all the remorse that a brave and generous heart is capable of feeling, after the gust of passion has passed away. "The ball has passed through his breast," whispered Macdonald in an agitated tone. "Unclasp the plaid, and open his coat. There is no blood; it must be flowing internally." These observations, though made unintentionally, added greatly to the distress of Louis Lisle; but the unclasping of the shoulder-belt, the undoing of the sash, the plaid, and yellow riband of his gorget, aroused Ronald, who, to their great surprise, rose slowly to his feet.