r; "he stands in more danger
of the gallows than of me."

Sir Peter pushed forward. I caught his arm, forcing him aside, but he
struggled, saying: "Did you not hear the man? Let me go, Carus; do you
think such an insult to you can pass me like a puff of sea-wind?"

"It strikes me first," I said. "It is to me that Mr. Butler answers."

"No, gentlemen, to _me!_" said a low voice behind us--the voice of Elsin
Grey.

Amazed, we turned, passion still marring our white faces. Calm,
bright-eyed, a smile that I had never seen imprinted on her closed
lips, she walked to the table, unlocked the case of pistols, lifted
them, and laid them there in the yellow lamplight.

"Elsin! Elsin!" stammered Lady Coleville; "have you, too, gone mad?"

"This is _my_ quarrel," she said, turning on me so fiercely that I
stepped back. "If any shot is fired in deference to me, _I_ fire it;
if any bullet is sped to defend my honor, _I_ speed it, gentlemen.
Why"--and she turned like a flash upon Sir Peter--"why do you assume to
interfere in this? Is not an honest man's duty to his own wife first?
Small honor you do yourself or her!--scant love must you bear her to
risk your life to chance in a quarrel that concerns not you!"

Astounded and dumb, we stood there as though rooted to the floor.

She looked at Butler and laughed; picked up a pistol, loaded it with
incredible deftness, laid it on the table, and began loading the other.

"Elsin! Elsin!" cried Lady Coleville, catching her by the waist, "what
is this wild freak of yours? Have you all gone mad to-night?"

"You shake my hand and spill the powder," said the Hon. Miss Grey,
smiling.

"Elsin," murmured Walter Butler, "has this fellow Renault poisoned you
against me?"

"Why, no, sir. You are married to a wife and dare to court me! There
lies the poison, Mr. Butler!"

"Hush, Elsin!" murmured Lady Coleville. "It was a mistake, dear. Mr.
Butler is not married to the--the lady--to anybody. He swears it!"

"Not wedded?" She stared, then turned scarlet to her hair. And Walter
Butler, I think, mistook the cause and meaning of that crimson shame,
for he smiled, and drawing a paper from his coat, spread it to Sir
Peter's eyes.

"I spoke of the gallows, Sir Peter, and you felt yourself once more
affronted. Yet, if you will glance at this----"

"What is it?" asked Sir Peter, looking him in the eye.

"Treason, Sir Peter--a letter--part of one--to the rebel Washington,
written by a spy!"