s.

His quick brain flew to the results like lightning. The Duke had escaped
from his mesh; his madness had done more to win this boy Miss Dacre's
heart than an age of courtship. He had lost the idol of his passion; he
was fixed for ever with the creature of his hate. He loathed the idea.
He tottered into the hermitage, and buried his face in his hands.

Something must be done. Some monstrous act of energy must repair this
fatal blunder. He appealed to the mind which had never deserted him. The
oracle was mute. Yet vengeance might even slightly redeem the bitterness
of despair. This fellow should die; and his girl, for already he hated
Miss Dacre, should not triumph in her minion. He tore a leaf from his
tablets, and wrote the lines we have already read.

The young Duke reached home. You expect, of course, that he sat up all
night making his will and answering letters. By no means. The first
object that caught his eye was an enormous ottoman. He threw himself
upon it without undressing, and without speaking a word to Luigi, and
in a moment was fast asleep. He was fairly exhausted. Luigi stared, and
called Spiridion to consult. They agreed that they dare not go to bed,
and must not leave their lord; so they played ecarte, till at last they
quarrelled and fought with the candles over the table. But even this did
not wake their unreasonable master; so Spiridion threw down a few chairs
by accident; but all in vain. At half-past five there was a knocking at
the gate, and they hurried away.

Arundel Dacre entered with them, woke the Duke, and praised him for his
punctuality. His Grace thought that he had only dozed a few minutes; but
time pressed; five minutes arranged his toilet, and they were first on
the field.

In a moment Sir Lucius and Mr. Piggott appeared. Arundel Dacre, on the
way, had anxiously enquired as to the probability of reconciliation, but
was told at once it was impossible, so now he measured the ground and
loaded the pistols with a calmness which was admirable. They fired at
once; the Duke in the air, and the Baronet in his friend's side. When
Sir Lucius saw his Grace fall his hate vanished. He ran up with real
anxiety and unfeigned anguish.

'Have I hit you? by h-ll!'

His Grace was magnanimous, but the case was urgent. A surgeon gave a
favourable report, and extracted the ball on the spot. The Duke was
carried back to his chaise, and in an hour was in the state bed, not of
the Alhambra, but of his