“God’s mercy!” said Ben, sighing deeply. “What a state of things is this, where men grown do act like children! Well, I will stand by thee to the end, Will, and if you fall I will protect the women. Alas! you had much better have gone to the wars, for there you would have had some chance. And now let us inside to the fire.”
During the rest of that day I was very restless and unsettled in my demeanour, and I suppose that Rose Lisle must have noticed it, for she kept looking at me in a strange way. I could neither talk nor eat, but wandered about from parlour to kitchen and in and out of the house, so that my mother and Lucy both spoke of my restlessness. And this was from no fear on my part, but because I wanted the time to pass and the affair to be over.
Late that night in my own chamber I cleaned my pistol and made ready my powder and shot, placing them in readiness for next morning. Somehow, the sight and handling of them restored my calmness, and presently I went to bed and slept as soundly as was usual with me. And when I woke the gray light was struggling through the window, whereupon I rose and woke Ben, and finding that it was nearly time for our meeting, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and set forth across the snow to the woods. Now that the time was at hand I felt as cool and unconcerned as ever I did in all my life; but poor Ben, who neither liked the business we were on nor leaving his warm bed for the frosty morning, was woebegone and miserable, and did shiver and tremble so that I had to give him my arm.
“Why, Ben,” said I, “this is the wrong way about. It is you who ought to support me, not I you. You might be going to be shot at yourself, man.”
“It is all very well to talk, Will, but I had rather be shot at myself than see another man shot at. Fancy the suspense while you take aim at one another! Whew! it makes me run cold to think of it!”
“Then do not think of it. And, prithee, pluck up some courage, for see, here they are, and I would not that either of us should show any signs of fright.”
“Who is it that Dennis hath brought with him?” said Ben, as we stepped into the enclosure. “Is it anyone we know?”
“It is Tom Gascoyne,” I said. “Ah! that is another man I like not. Birds of a feather are these two, Ben. But see, here is Tom coming towards us. Go you to meet him, Ben, and settle your plans quickly. Let us have no tarrying, so that the thing may be over and done with.”
“Alas!” groaned Ben, and went to meet Gascoyne, while I stayed behind watching them. They met, conversed a moment, examined and loaded the pistols, and then fell to talking again. Presently I saw Ben exhibit decided signs of dissent, shaking his head vehemently at what the other said, and growing so decided in his non-agreement that he came away to speak to me.
“What think you, Will?” said he. “They want you to face each other at fifteen paces, which is reasonable enough, but they also want you to fire in turn, the first turn to be tossed for. Why, ’tis murder, say I!”
“Nonsense, man,” said I. “Let them have their own way about it. I have as good a chance of winning the toss as Watson hath.”
“ ’Tis naught but murder!” grumbled Ben. “I wish I had set the magistrates on you.”
But he went back, and presently he and Gascoyne took the best of three tosses, and then Ben, with a lugubrious face, came to say that Dennis was to have the first shot.
“And they say he shoots well with the pistol,” sighed Ben. “Heaven turn the bullet from thee, Will! You are to stand here. Oh, that I had never come into this murderous business!”
“Come, Ben, be a man. I do not think he will hit me. See, Gascoyne calls thee.”
So there I stood, a clear mark against the snow-covered trees, and Dennis Watson stood fifteen paces away, his pistol hanging down by his side. Somehow I had no fear that he would hit me. I only felt curious to know what would happen.
“Gentlemen,” said Tom Gascoyne, “are you ready? Then, when I say ‘Fire,’ you, Dennis, will raise your piece and fire instantly.”
“There must be no taking aim,” groaned Ben. “It were murder if he took aim.”
“There must be no taking aim,” said Gascoyne. “The pistol must be lifted and fired at the word. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I called. “Quite ready.”
I looked straight at Dennis Watson as I spoke, and saw his eyes staring directly at mine.
“One—two—three,” said Gascoyne slowly and clearly.
But ere he could say the fatal word, someone cried, “Stop!” in a voice that made us all start and turn. And there we stood fixed and motionless, looking at Rose Lisle as she burst into the clearing, her face whiter than the snow, and her large eyes full of horror at the sight before her.
XXI
Of Certain Joyful Events
I suppose that a child which is caught in the very midst of some naughtiness feels pretty much as I did at that moment. There I stood, with the pistol hanging in my hand, first staring at Rose and then gradually dropping my gaze before the shocked and startled look which I saw in her eyes. Indeed, I felt remarkably ashamed of myself now that we had been interrupted, and did not think of the affair in the same light as before. When Rose came upon the scene Gascoyne was just about to speak, and he now stood staring at
