"My lord," he said, "let me once more appeal to you--to your manly feeling--to ask whether this is necessary. Surely you must be aware that your pretensions are vain, and that even if you disable, or slay me, your presence will be more than ever distasteful. I am cool now, and, forgiving you the blow you struck me, I ask pardon for my passionate haste. Let us put aside these deadly weapons, and in her name let me ask you to be generous, to have pity on us both, for it lies in your power!" Brace ceased, for there was a sneer upon his rival's face that was almost devilish. He had watched Brace's actions, and seen him probe the pistol-barrel, when, apparently satisfied, the young man had let the weapon fall to his side. "Dog! coward! scoundrel!" exclaimed the Viscount, now half-beside himself with a passion that seemed fiendish. "Once more I give you a chance; give her up for ever, and write what I will dictate, or take your place." For answer, Brace Norton's lips moved as he slowly took his place opposite to his adversary, when, with a malignant look of hatred, that could hardly have been expected from a man of his character, Lord Maudlaine smiled triumphantly, as he too examined the cap of his pistol, and then drew the ramrod, to thrust it down the barrel. Then, as if stricken by paralysis, the look of hate and triumph faded from his face, to leave it of a sickly green hue, his jaw fell, his hand trembled visibly, and his knees shook beneath him; for, in spite of his management, Lord Maudlaine was at his opponent's mercy: he had carefully charged one pistol only with ball, and, in his agitation, he had let that weapon pass into his rival's hand, while his own contained but a blank charge. The Viscount's aspect was truly pitiable, and for a moment it was in his heart to beg for mercy; but, as if mechanically, he faced his rival, and with the dread upon him that his treachery would be discovered, he prepared to fire. Guilt requires no accusers: he could not think then to say that his pistol was not fully charged--he could not see that he had a generous enemy to deal with. He measured his adversary by himself; and, feeling that his last hour had come, he prepared to fire. "Will your lordship give the signal--the dropping of a handkerchief?" said Brace. "We have no seconds to take the duty." "No! You!" gasped the Viscount; and Brace gazed wonderingly at the pitiable fear evinced by his opponent, who had nerved himself into standing upright, and now retained his position in almost a cataleptic state. Brace drew forth a white handkerchief, and then with his pistol covered his adversary--the man whom his heart told him a careful aim would remove from his path for ever. "At the word _three_," said Brace, calmly; and then, after a pause, "One--two--three!"