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“Give him his way? Does that mean fight a duel with him?”

“Don’t be angry–it does.”

“And you kept my name out of it, by pretending to quarrel at the card-table?”

“Yes. We managed it when the cardroom was emptying at supper-time, and nobody was present but Major Mulvany and another friend as witnesses.”

“And when did you fight the duel?”

“The next morning.”

“You never thought of me, I suppose?”

“Indeed, I did; I was very glad that you had no suspicion of what we were at.”

“Was that all?”

“No; I had your flower with me, the flower you gave me out of your nosegay, at the ball.”

“Well?”

“Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. What did you do with my flower?”

“I gave it a sly kiss while they were measuring the ground; and (don’t tell anybody!) I put it next to my heart to bring me luck.”

“Was that just before he shot at you?”

“Yes.”

“How did he shoot?”

“He walked (as the seconds had arranged it) ten paces forward; and then he stopped, and lifted his pistol–“

“Don’t tell me any more! Oh, to think of my being the miserable cause of such horrors! I’ll never dance again as long as I live. Did you think he had killed you, when the bullet wounded your poor neck?”

“No; I hardly felt it at first.”

“Hardly felt it? How he talks! And when the wretch had done his best to kill you, and when it came to your turn, what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“What! You didn’t walk your ten paces forward?”

“No.”

“And you never shot at him in return?”

“No; I had no quarrel with him, poor fellow; I just stood where I was, and fired in the air–“

Before he could stop her, Charlotte seized his hand, and kissed it with an hysterical fervor of admiration, which completely deprived him of his presence of mind.

“Why shouldn’t I kiss the hand of a hero?” she cried, with tears of enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes. “Nobody but a hero would have given that man his life; nobody but a hero would have pardoned him, while the blood was streaming from the wound that he had inflicted. I respect you, I admire you. Oh, don’t think me bold! I can’t control myself when I hear of anything noble and good. You will understand me better when we get to be old friends–won’t you?”

She spoke in low sweet tones of entreaty. Percy’s arm stole softly round her.

“Are we never to be nearer and dearer to each other than old friends?” he asked in a whisper. “I am not a hero–your goodness overrates me, dear Miss Charlotte. My one ambition is to be the happy man who is worthy enough to win you. At your own time! I wouldn’t distress you, I wouldn’t confuse you, I wouldn’t for the whole world take advantage of the compliment which your sympathy has paid to me. If it offends you, I won’t even ask if I may hope.”

She sighed as he said the last words; trembled a little, and silently looked at him.

Percy read his answer in her eyes. Without meaning it on either side their heads drew nearer together; their cheeks, then their lips, touched. She started back from him, and rose to leave the conservatory. At the same moment, the sound of slowly-approaching footsteps became audible on the gravel walk of the garden. Charlotte hurried to the door.

“My father!” she exclaimed, turning to Percy. “Come, and be introduced to him.”

Percy followed her into the garden.

CHAPTER VII.

POLITICS.

JUDGING by appearances, Mr. Bowmore looked like a man prematurely wasted and worn by the cares of a troubled life. His eyes presented the one feature in which his daughter resembled him. In shape and color they were exactly reproduced in Charlotte; the difference was in the expression. The father’s look was habitually restless, eager, and suspicious. Not a trace was to be seen in it of the truthfulness and gentleness which made the charm of the daughter’s expression. A man whose bitter experience of the world had soured his temper and shaken his faith in his fellow-creatures–such was Mr. Bowmore as he presented himself on the surface. He received Percy politely–but with a preoccupied air. Every now and then, his restless eyes wandered from the visitor to an open letter in his hand. Charlotte, observing him, pointed to the letter.