"I am ready," broke in Morice, sternly. "Let it be where you will, and with what weapons you will, so it be at once."
"The forest, by all means, then," he yawned. "and pistols will be more appropriate than swords. Stap me! It's the first time I'll have been owl-shooting since I was a boy."
Morice did not reply, though he strode quickly enough on the heels of the other as he led the way down the path, through the wicket, and across the heather-crowned strip of moorland towards the outskirts of the forest.
The cool breeze blowing in his face seemed to restore the young man to his senses. He was going to fight a duel with Lord Denningham.
But he was remembering tales which had often been the subject of Carlton House gossip--tales of this man's skill with the pistols, his unerring aim, his callous disregard of life.
"You are going to death, you are going to death," moaned the autumn wind in his ear; and the voice seemed like the voice of Cécile crying its sad farewell.
Yet he could not go back; it was too late. If death awaited him, there in the grim forest, he must meet the grisly foe as a man, not a puling coward.
A man! Yes, a man whom Cécile, in years to come, might think of not wholly in shame, but with a great pity, as of one who, after many sins, many failures, many mistakes, had tried to redeem the past and expiate his faults--for her sake. If only he could have sent a message!
"I think, with your permission, we have gone far enough," observed Lord Denningham affably, as he halted near a small clearing in the wood.
He knew not if he had walked one mile or ten, so deep had been his reverie.
"It is a matter of regret that there is no time to procure seconds," smiled my lord, as he proceeded to divest himself of his coat and walk slowly across the clearing, carefully measuring his paces.
"But I do not think there will be any dispute--afterwards."
"The light might be worse," went on Denningham. "If we are careful where we stand,--so--there is too deep a shadow there. You have a good weapon, sir? If not, permit me to offer you the choice of mine."
He opened a leather case as he spoke, holding it towards Morice with a mocking bow.
A pair of gold-mounted pistols lay within.
"I thank you, my lord, but I prefer using my own," he replied shortly.