"much aghast,
Rode back to Piershill fiery fast."
He could only tell that the Captain and Sir Richard Musgrave had had a duel: one was shot dead, but he could not say which.
When Frank came with the full particulars, he slipped away and had a long argument with a stolid Scotchman, about who fired the first shot.
"Come, De Vere, who was the slain?" said Major Cathcart;—"I will bet five to one it was not John De Vere!"
"You're right;—Musgrave was done for—shot clean through his forehead."
Frank then detailed the whole to a throng of officers and sergeants in the mess room, and did not omit the joke about his riding there for fear of the dead man.
"You should have brought him here," said the Major; "we are not afraid of dead bodies!"
A yell of laughter followed this savage jest; and they then all sat down to a wining party, and drank the dead man's health in silence ere they retired!
Captain Wilson departed next day for the Continent. Sir Richard Musgrave's remains were interred in the vaults at the Towers; and the Earl had some trouble to clear himself of the scrape. The marriage was deferred till the 18th of December, the Earl choosing the same day he had met Ellen a year before at the Duke's ball. A letter from the Captain arrived shortly before that day, saying he was at Hamburgh; had met a delightful young Polish officer, Count Czinsky, who was also there for a similar lawless deed, and they were to proceed to St. Petersburgh almost immediately.