“Poor Mary Chadleigh! whichever way it ends, its issue must be, to her, a tragedy.”
Fitzgerald had descended from his post of observation, and recognizing me, he walked up, and shook me by the hand. He looked pale and stern.
“They are coming,” said he, glancing towards the vehicle which was now rapidly approaching.
“Rather late—are they?” I asked—more from want of something to say than any other cause.
“No, no; a quarter past seven was fixed on, subsequently to my note, last night; we should scarcely have had light earlier,” he said.
“The weapons are pistols?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered; “and we may as well begin to make our preparations. Come with me; you’ll not be in the way; I won’t stand on ceremony when the time comes for you to withdraw and leave Major Gurney and myself to our deliberations.”
So saying, he drew me with him to the side of the carriage.
“Take out the case,” he said to the man who stood by the carriage-door; “not that—those are the instruments; leave it where Dr. ⸻ placed it—the flat case—that’s right; just keep it in your hand; and when I beckon to you, bring it over to me quickly; there, don’t shake it.”
We now walked up to Chadleigh, who stood moodily and doggedly, with his surtout buttoned up to the chin; and exchanging, now and then, a brief word or two with his companion—a slim, pale-faced, young surgeon, who was, evidently, but one degree less frightened than if he had been himself a principal. Fitzgerald dropped my arm as he approached, and leaving me at a little distance, observed, consulting his watch—
“Eight minutes before their time.”
Chadleigh nodded.
“They have brought advice, too,” suggested the little surgeon, timidly; “there is a second carriage.”
“There’s no need to waste time,” said Chadleigh; “we had better walk on a little to meet them.”
The steps of the first carriage had, by this time, been let down; and Jennings, followed by a stiff, elderly gentleman, with a red, important face, and a military air, descended upon the turf. After, as it seemed, a few directions to the servants, they began to walk towards us, briskly, followed by an attendant, carrying a pistol-case; and with the carriage, which carried their medical friend, a little in the rear.
My heart swelled within me as those two little groups approached one another, in grim silence, over the smooth sward. Gracious God! what an awful account for eternity was to be closed ere they parted!
On they came, briskly and steadily, through the keen and misty morning air—nearer and nearer—until the interposing space became so limited that each party, as it were, by mutual consent, slackening their pace, came slowly to a halt, at some dozen steps apart, and interchanged, in silence, a stern and formal salutation. Fitzgerald stepped forward, and was met about halfway by the grim elderly gentleman whom I have described. After another salutation, as formal, they withdrew a little, and conducted a brief conference, in short, decisive whispers. Meanwhile, those who, either accidentally, or by design, had been spectators of the proceedings, began to gather about the spot on which the combatants were placed.
I had thought, once or twice, that Jennings perceived my presence, and now I was assured of it.
“Mr. ⸻,” he said, in a low, hurried tone, “I have a request to make.”
“Pray, state it, sir,” I replied, approaching.
“It is just this—should I happen to fall, remain here for a few moments, as I may feel it necessary to make a communication to you of the last importance, not to myself, but to others.”
I undertook to comply with this request, and withdrew.
There was not the slightest perceptible tremor, not the least indication of excitement, in his manner, voice, or aspect, excepting that he was, perhaps, a little paler than usual, and his eyes were unusually dilated. With the restlessness of suspense, I walked to the spot where Chadleigh was standing, and, almost at the same moment, Fitzgerald returned.
“What is the distance?” asked Chadleigh.
“Ten paces,” rejoined Fitzgerald.
“Too much,” said he, gruffly.
“It is the usual thing; you don’t want to have us look bloodthirsty,” retorted Fitzgerald.
“And for that reason, I’d like to have it settled one way or other at the first shot.”
“It will be settled time enough,” said the second, and, unlocking the pistol-case, he proceeded to load the weapons; a silence, hardly broken by a whisper, followed, during which the click of ramrods, and the cramming home of wadded bullets were ominously audible.
“Are you ready, Mr. Fitzgerald?” inquired Jennings’ second; “if so, we had better place our men at once.”
A piece of money was thrown up for choice of ground; Jennings won.
“Luck’s so far with us, sir; I hope it may not turn,” remarked the veteran, with a ghastly jocularity.
Chadleigh disencumbered himself of his surtout, and the combatants took their ground respectively.
“Gentlemen,” said the major, addressing the spectators, “have the goodness to draw back a little; some of you may be hurt, else.”
The suggestion was complied with, and a breathless silence followed.
“Are you ready, gentlemen,” inquired the major.
Each answered in the affirmative.
After a brief pause the word “fire” was given, each raised his weapon, but Chadleigh only fired. Jennings must have had a narrow escape, for he shook his head, put his hand to his ear, as if a hornet had stung him, then, quickly raising the pistol, he fired into the air, threw the weapon up, and caught it by the muzzle as it descended.
“D⸺e, sir, that won’t do,” exclaimed Chadleigh, in a tone of bitter exasperation, “you may throw away your shot, if you will, but I’m cursed if you get out of the business on these terms; it is the act of a poltroon and a scoundrel to sneak out of a quarrel that way; I’ll baulk your scheme, for you—”
“Don’t say a word,” said Jennings, sternly, interrupting Fitzgerald, who was about to interfere, “I call you all to witness I have stood his fire, and without returning it—that’s all; let him take the consequences of his
