All the arrangements were made, and the utmost secrecy agreed on.

"No one need know"--hesitating--"certainly not Miss Mainwaring or my
mother. I will employ to-day in setting my house in order, and leave
letters behind me."

"Don't say 'behind me,' man. Hundreds of people who fight do not get a
scratch. You will be all right, and marry the lady, and live happy ever
after."

"I am in no jesting mood, Beresford; and although you profess to look on
the whole affair as a joke, you do not do so, in your secret heart. You
do not forget, any more than I do, that last month we walked together to
Claverton Down to see the spot where Viscount Barre asked for his life
of Count Rice, not much over a year ago."[1]

[Footnote 1: See "DUELLING ON CLAVERTON DOWN." ]

"Ah! that was a different matter. We are to have no pistols, only a
little sword-play. I hope one of Danby's evil eyes may be put out, and,
better still, his tongue slit. Aim at his mouth, with that end in view.
Yes, try for the mouth and eyes, Travers."

"Has the matter got wind in Bath?" Leslie asked.

"Oh! the gossips have got hold of the quarrel. But dear heart, man,
there is seldom a day but there is a war of words in the Assembly or
Pump Room."

Leslie Travers spent the rest of the day in his room, excusing himself
to his mother on the plea of indisposition. And, indeed, she was too
much occupied with a prayer-meeting at the Countess of Huntingdon's
house to do more than pay Leslie a visit at intervals, see that his fire
burned brightly, and exhort him to take the soup and wine she carried to
him herself. Thus, all unconscious of the sword which was hanging over
her, gentle Mrs. Travers went on her way.

Unconscious, too, of trouble affecting their near neighbour and friend,
Mr. and Miss Herschel were at Bristol, rehearsing, amidst the
congratulations of the audience privileged to be present, the great
oratorio to be performed in a few days under the _baton_ of Ronzini, who
was to conduct it.

Unconscious of the peril in which Leslie Travers stood, Griselda was
occupied with the event of the previous night--her father's death--and
the necessary confession to Leslie Travers, of her relationship to the
dying man, by whose bedside they had watched together.

The house in North Parade was unusually quiet that day, for Lady Betty
had caught cold, and kept Graves in perpetual attendance.

A few visitors arrived, but were refused admittance, and Griselda wait