The Launching of Roger Brook

on the turf, the two footmen riding on the boot turned and saw that they were pursued. There was, too, still sufficient light for them to see that one of their pursuers was masked. Instantly, they began to shout to the coachman and postilion:

'Allez! Allez! We are attacked by highwaymen!' And from a canter the six fine horses were lashed into a gallop.

The horsemen had an easy advantage over the heavy, bounding coach and within a couple of minutes were close upon it; but, during them, the two footmen had each pulled a wide-mouthed blunderbuss from under his seat and were endeavouring to take aim with their clumsy weapons.

Roger's heart sank. It seemed near impossible to ride past the coach and bring it to a halt without receiving some of the scattered fusillade of shot that threatened. But, de la Tour d'Auvergne wrenched a pistol from his holster, cocked it, and fired at the man upon the left. The bullet caught him in the shoulder. With a cry, he dropped his blunderbuss.

The other man fired but, at that instant, the coach jolted over a big stone, and the charge of small shot whistled over Roger's head.

Despite the shooting and the shouting, the coachman, now crouching low over his box, flogged his team on. Yet in another minute the two horsemen had drawn level with him, one on each side of the coach.

Pulling his second pistol from its holster the Vicomte thrust it at him and yelled: 'Halt, fellow! Halt! Or your life will answer for it!'

The coachman had done his best and, with a shout to the postilion, reined in his horses. Still bumping and bounding the cumbersome vehicle lumbered to a stop.

Roger and de la Tour d'Auvergne rode on some twenty yards and came together again just in front of the steaming leaders.

'Give me your horse!' cried the Vicomte. 'I will hold these people in play while you go forward with your intended business. May God guard you and make strong your arm!'

'I thank you!' gasped Roger, throwing over his reins and slipping to the ground. Suddenly he remembered that he was wearing spurs. Stooping he unbuckled them and slipped them into his pocket. By the time he reached the door of the coach the Comte de Caylus had it open and, one heavy hand on its window-sill, was leaning out, a scowl of anger on his dark, ugly features.

While taking off his spurs Roger had got back his breath. Having made a deep, formal bow he said: 'Monsieur le Comte. I regret that circumstances preventme from sending my seconds to you, and offering you the choice of weapons, time and place; but 'tis imperative that we should fight—and now. I pray that you will descend and join me on the grass.'

'S'bloodl Who are you?' demanded the Count, angrily. 'And what is the meaning of this farce?'

''Tis no farce!' replied Roger coldly. 'As you soon will find; I trust to your cost. As to myself, M. l'Abbe de Perigord will have already told you that in crossing your sword with mine you will do it no dishonour. Immediately we are free of prying eyes I will unmask and answer all reasonable questions about myself. Come! The light is failing! Unless you would prefer to fight in semi-darkness, do not delay.'

'I'll fight in neither light nor darkness, without a reason,' growled de Caylus.

'I'll give you that, once we are apart. And 'tis one that you will answer to readily enough.'

'Were I to do so 'twould mean your death, young jackanapes!'

'It suits me that your mind runs in that vein; since, let me warn you, I intend to kill you if I can!'

'You count this affront that I as yet know nothing of as mortal, then?'

'I do. I'll seek no quarter, neither will I give it.'

For a moment it looked as if de Caylus was about to spring from the coach; but he kept his temper and evidently thought better of the impulse.

'No!' he exclaimed firmly, 'I'll not be dragooned into fighting someone I do not know for something that I may not have done. At any other time I'd skewer you as full of holes as a larded capon, for your impudence; but to-night I have no mind for it.' Upon which he suddenly sat back and slammed the door of the coach to in Roger's face.

Seizing the handle of the door Roger wrenched it open and, thrusting his head inside, cried: 'Why not to-night as well as any other? You have not the reputation of a coward; since when have you become one?'

De Caylus laughed. 'Call me a coward if you will. I care not! I'll not fight to-night, I tell you! In two days' time I am to be wed; and I'll not risk some chance thrust of yours marring my enjoyment of my young wife. After a month with her I'll be your man. If you've a wish to die seek me out again early in October, at any time and place you choose, and I'll cut you to ribbons before I kill you!'

''Tis your projected marriage that offends me!' cried Roger rashly. 'So you'll fight to-night, or I'll slay you where you sit!' And, leaning forward, he seized the Count by his lace jabot, giving a violent tug upon it.

While they had been shouting at one another Roger had been dimly aware that de Caylus was not alone in the coach. Another man occupied the seat opposite him; but Roger's eyes had been riveted on the Count's swarthy face and in the dim light of the interior of the coach the other man's features were obscure.

As Roger's fingers grasped the goffered lace that fell from de Caylus's neckband his vaguely seen companion suddenly thrust out a hand and snatched Roger's mask from his face.

'Ventre du Pape!' he shouted to de Caylus, as Roger's features were revealed. 'I thought I knew that voice! 'Tis that upstart Breuc; my father's secretary! Your challenger is a fellow that Athenais picked up from the gutter!'

Releasing his hold upon the Count, Roger sprang back. But it was too late. The coachman, the postilion and the two footmen must all have heard the shout, so the damage was done, and nothing now could possibly prevent them realising the cause of this deadly quarrel. White with fury and dismay Roger glared into the haughty, handsome face of Count Lucien de Rochambeau.

'You crazy fool!' he burst out. 'Since you suspected my identity had you not the sense to realise that its revelation would jeopardise your sister's honour?'

De Caylus was staring at Roger uncomprehendingly. 'S'blood! What means all this?' he exclaimed, turning swiftly to Count Lucien. 'I've seen this man in your father's office; but why in thunder should you link his name with that of Athehais?'

'The dog has been casting sheep's eyes at her since she was fourteen,' snapped the young Count. 'But he wormed his way into the household and my father remained blind to it. 'Twould now appear that he has the unbelievable impertinence to set himself up as your rival, and would try his hand at killing you to prevent your marriage.'

'So that's the way of it,' de Caylus growled. 'When the Abbe said that de la Tour d'Auvergne was with my unknown challenger methought that having failed to kill me himself he had hired some bravo to attempt it.'

'Your thought is worthy of you,' cut in Roger. 'But neither M. de la Tour d'Auvergne, nor any other true gentleman, would entertain it for a moment.'

'And who are you, a dirty, ink-spilling scrivener, to judge what thoughts are becoming to a gentleman?' sneered Count Lucien.

'For that I'll fight you when I've finished with the Count!' flared Roger. ' 'Twill be a chastisement long overdue. And I'd have you know that I am of as good a blood as you.'

'I'll not believe it! You're naught but an adventurer!'

'Then you give the lie to M. l'Abbd de Perigord as well as to myself. He is acquainted with my uncle, the Earl of Kildonan. My real name is Brook, and my father a Rear-Admiral of the British fleet.'

'I care not who you are!' stormed de Caylus. 'I'll not now give any man satisfaction till I've possessed Athenais. Get hence!'

'And I'll not let you while I live,' cried Roger, drawing his sword. 'She's for a better man than the debauched grandson of a negro slave!'

De Caylus flushed under his sallow skin. Reaching a hand down to the floor he snatched up one of the swords that de Perigord had thrown in there, and bounded from the coach.

'That's better!' Roger exclaimed, stepping back. 'Let's seek an even piece of ground and fight it out.'

'I'll not honour you by even the semblance of a proper meeting,' bellowed de Caylus, now pale with rage. 'I'll kill you where you belong; here in this ditch.'

As he spoke he lunged with all his force. Roger leapt sideways— only just in time. He had barely thrown himself on guard when the Count came at him again. To his terror he knew that he had allowed himself to be