ence"
with swords. What do you think of that, my nineteenth century
intelligent reader, with all your boasted approach to civilisation and
sacred respect for life? Why, a cold-blooded duel with swords, and in
the French fashion, too! Both hot-headed youths knew comparatively
little about the handling of the chosen weapons, nothing more, indeed,
than what they received while training in the Volunteers; but it was a
"point of honour," and they would do their best.

Several of the Black-and-Whites, who had heard about the proposed
"meeting," had a secret consultation with Ned M'Gill and Davie Merricks,
who, it was whispered, had taken the friendly job of "seconds," and the
whole affair was "adjusted." With swords this was impossible, and they
resolved to resort to the respectable and honourable weapon, the
revolver.

The two men who were to face each other in terrible earnest, you may be
sure, slept little or none during the preceding night. "Four o'clock
sharp, mind, at the grass field, near Hagg's Castle," said the brave
seconds, "and it will be all over in a few minutes." Charlie shuddered
when he heard the last words (which, by the way, were deliberately
intended for him).

"_A few minutes, and all will be over_," Charlie muttered; "what if I
should be killed?" His very teeth (which he used to whiten with cigar
ashes, and was so proud about), were chattering. Thousands of ideas
floated across his heated imagination. He saw his past life before him,
and the only consolation, if it could be called one, lay in the thought
that, should it come to the worst, Jenny Black's eyes would be dimmed
with tears at his misfortune. He felt sure the dear lassie loved him,
and he would brave death a thousand times rather than endure the anguish
of seeing her married to a useless fellow like Bob Lambert.

Bob, on the other hand, was really a cool and determined fellow; and
while Charlie was in the throes speculating about probable dissolution
before the morrow's sun should rise, Bob was actually priding himself on
superior ability in handling a revolver. He was, in fact, far too
arrogant a man to imagine that _he_ could be shot by a silly boy like
Walker. He had made up his mind to shoot straight when the signal fell,
and indulged in the devilish pleasure it would afford him to read a
"true and particular account" of the duel in the Glasgow evening papers,
if good luck would favour him in escaping to the Continent.

"These fellows