t!" exclaimed the duke. "But this is a
groundless hypothesis! Speak, Randal."

"Lord L'Estrange cannot insult me by deeming it otherwise than a
groundless hypothesis!" said Randal, striving to rear his head.

"I understand then, Mr. Leslie, that you scornfully reject such a
supposition?"

"Scornfully--yes. And," continued Randal, advancing a step, "since the
supposition has been made, I demand from Lord L'Estrange, as his equal
(for all gentlemen are equals where honour is to be defended at the cost
of life), either instant retractation--or instant proof."

"That's the first word you have spoken like a man," cried the squire. "I
have stood my ground myself for a less cause. I have had a ball through
my right shoulder."

"Your demand is just," said Harley, unmoved. "I cannot give the
retractation,--I will produce the proof."

He rose and rang the bell; the servant entered, received his whispered
order, and retired. There was a pause painful to all. Randal, however,
ran over in his fearful mind what evidence could be brought against
him--and foresaw none. The folding doors of the saloon were thrown open
and the servant announced--

THE COUNT DI PESCHIERA.

A bombshell, descending through the roof could not have produced a more
startling sensation. Erect, bold, with all the imposing effect of his
form and bearing, the count strode into the centre of the ring; and
after a slight bend of haughty courtesy, which comprehended all present,
reared up his lofty head, and looked round, with calm in his eye and a
curve on his lip,--the self-assured, magnificent, high-bred Daredevil.

"Duke di Serrano," said the count, in English, turning towards his
astounded kinsman, and in a voice that, slow, clear, and firm, seemed to
fill the room, "I returned to England on the receipt of a letter from my
Lord L'Estrange, and with a view, it is true, of claiming at his hands
the satisfaction which men of our birth accord to each other, where
affront, from what cause soever, has been given or received. Nay, fair
kinswoman,"--and the count, with a slight but grave smile, bowed to
Violante, who had uttered a faint cry,--"that intention is abandoned. If
I have adopted too lightly the old courtly maxim, that 'all stratagems
are fair in love,' I am bound also to yield to my Lord L'Estrange's
arguments, that the counter-stratagems must be fair also. And, after
all, it becomes me better to laugh at my own sorry figure in defeat,
th