“Of course not. Keep your hand steady, Charley, and if you don’t bring him down with that saw-handle, you’re not your uncle’s nephew.”
With these words we mounted into the tax-cart, and set off for the meeting-place.
CHAPTER LXII.
THE DUEL.
A small and narrow ravine between the two furze-covered dells led to the open space where the meeting had been arranged for. As we reached this, therefore, we were obliged to descend from the drag, and proceed the remainder of the way afoot. We had not gone many yards when a step was heard approaching, and the next moment Beaufort appeared. His usually easy and dégagé air was certainly tinged with somewhat of constraint; and though his soft voice and half smile were as perfect as ever, a slightly flurried expression about the lip, and a quick and nervous motion of his eyebrow, bespoke a heart not completely at ease. He lifted his foraging cap most ceremoniously to salute us as we came up, and casting an anxious look to see if any others were following, stood quite still.
“I think it right to mention, Major O’Shaughnessy,” said he, in a voice of most dulcet sweetness, “that I am the only friend of Captain Trevyllian on the ground; and though I have not the slightest objection to Captain Baker being present, I hope you will see the propriety of limiting the witnesses to the three persons now here.”
“Upon my conscience, as far as I am concerned, or my friend either, we are perfectly indifferent if we fight before three or three thousand. In Ireland we rather like a crowd.”
“Of course, then, as you see no objection to my proposition, I may count upon your co-operation in the event of any intrusion,—I mean, that while we, upon our sides, will not permit any of our friends to come forward, you will equally exert yourself with yours.”
“Here we are, Baker and myself, neither more nor less. We expect no one, and want no one; so that I humbly conceive all the preliminaries you are talking of will never be required.”