And ever as he spoke, warming himself at the fire, Ronald Barrymaine kept his burning gaze upon Mr. Chichester's pale face, while Barnabas leaned, twisted in his chair, and Mr. Smivvle busied himself with the oblong box. With shaking hands he took out the duelling-pistols, one by one, and laid them on the table.
"We'll g-give him first choice, eh, Dig?" said Barrymaine. "Ah—he's chosen, I s-see. Now we'll t-take opposite corners of the room and f-fire when you give the word, eh, Dig?"
As he spoke, Barrymaine advanced to the table, his gaze always upon Mr. Chichester, nor did he look away even for an instant, thus, his hand wandered, for a moment, along the table, ere he found and took up the remaining pistol. Then, with it cocked in his hand, he backed away to the corner beside the hearth, and being come there, nodded.
"A good, comfortable distance, D-Dig," said he, "now tell him to take his g-ground."
But even as he spoke, Mr. Chichester strode to the opposite corner of the long room, and turning, stood there with folded arms. Up till now, he had uttered no word, but as Mr. Smivvle leaned back against the wall, midway between them, and glanced from one to the other, Mr. Chichester spoke.
"Sirs," said he, "I shall most certainly kill him, and I call upon you to witness that it was forced upon me."
Now as his voice died away, through the open window came a faint sound that might have been wind in the trees, or the drumming of horse-hoofs, soft and faint with distance.
"Oh, g-give us the word, D-Dig!" said Barrymaine.
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Smivvle, steadying himself against the panelling with shaking hands, "the word will be—Ready? One! Two! Three—Fire! Do you understand?"
An eager "Yes" from Barrymaine, a slight nod from Chichester, yet Mr. Smivvle still leaned there mutely against the wall, as though his tongue failed him, or as if hearkening to that small, soft sound, that might have been wind in the trees.