there shall be but one instant between
your last offence and your first but final debasement. Lie there! it is
your proper place! By the only law which you yourself acknowledge, the
law which gives the right divine to the strongest; if you stir limb or
muscle, I will crush the breath from your body."

But Clarence was now by the side of Wolfe, a new and more powerful
opponent.

"Look you," said he: "you have received an insult, and you have done
justice yourself. I condemn the offence, and quarrel not with you for
the punishment; but that punishment is now past: remove your foot, or--"

"What?" shouted Wolfe, fiercely, his lurid and vindictive eye flashing
with the released fire of long-pent and cherished passions.

"Or," answered Clarence, calmly, "I will hinder you from committing
murder."

At that instant the watchman's voice was heard, and the night's guardian
himself was seen hastening from the far end of the street towards the
place of contest. Whether this circumstance, or Clarence's answer,
somewhat changed the current of the republican's thoughts, or whether
his anger, suddenly raised, was now as suddenly subsiding, it is not
easy to decide; but he slowly and deliberately moved his foot from
the breast of his baffled foe, and bending down seemed endeavouring
to ascertain the mischief he had done. Lord Borodaile was perfectly
insensible.

"You have killed him!" cried Clarence in a voice of horror, "but you
shall not escape;" and he placed a desperate and nervous hand on the
republican.

"Stand off," said Wolfe, "my blood is up! I would not do more violence
to-night than I have done. Stand off! the man moves; see!"

And Lord Borodaile, uttering a long sigh, and attempting to rise,
Clarence released his hold of the republican, and bent down to assist
the fallen nobleman. Meanwhile, Wolfe, muttering to himself, turned from
the spot, and strode haughtily away.

The watchman now came up, and, with his aid, Clarence raised Lord
Borodaile. Bruised, stunned, half insensible as he was, that personage
lost none of his characteristic stateliness; he shook off the watchman's
arm, as if there was contamination in the touch; and his countenance,
still menacing and defying in its expression, turned abruptly towards
Clarence, as if he yet expected to meet and struggle with a foe.

"How are you, my lord?" said Linden; "not severely hurt, I trust?"

"Well, quite well," cried Borodaile. "Mr. Linden, I think?--I thank