t to outdo my throw, and nothing
shall induce me to take advantage of it. Think better of it, Sir Hugh,
I entreat you."

"You are a man of honour, Mr. Meredith, and so am I," was the only
reply, as Sir Hugh brandished the box aloft, and thundered it down on
the table--"Sixes!" "Good casting," he remarked; and at the same
instant cocking the pistol nearest to him, discharged it full into his
antagonist's bosom. The bullet sped through a delicate lace
handkerchief, which he always wore there, straight and true into
Cousin Edward's heart. As he fell forward across the table, a dark
stream flowed slowly along the carpet, till it dyed the border of
Lucy's white dress with a crimson stain. She was on her knees,
apparently insensible; but one small hand felt the cold, wet contact,
and she looked at it, and saw that it was blood. Once more she uttered
a shriek that rang through those vast buildings, and rushed again to
the door to find it locked. In sheer despair she made for the window,
threw open the casement, and ere Sir Hugh could seize or stop her
flung herself headlong into the court below. When the horrified
husband looked down into the darkness, a wisp of white garments, a
bruised and lifeless body, was all that remained of Lady Horsingham.

That night one half of Dangerfield Hall was consumed by fire. Its
mistress was said to have perished in the flames. The good neighbours,
the honest country people, pitied poor Sir Hugh, galloping back from
London, to find his house in ruins and his wife a corpse. His gay
companions missed "Ned Meredith" from his usual haunts; but it was
generally supposed he had obtained a mission to the court of St.
Germains, and there was a rumour that he had perished in a duel with a
French marquis. A certain half-witted lad, who had followed Sir Hugh
back to Dangerfield on that fearful night, might have elucidated the
mystery; but he had been kidnapped, and sent to the plantations. After
many years he returned to England, and on his deathbed left a written
statement, implicating Sir Hugh in the double crime of arson and
murder. But long ere this the culprit had appeared before a tribunal
which admits of no prevarication, and the pretty boy with the golden
curls had become lord of Dangerfield Hall. The long corridor had been
but partially destroyed. It was repaired and refurnished by successive
generations; but guests and servants alike refused to sleep again in
that dreary wing after the first