She clasped her hands in an agony.
"I implore you, if you would not kill me, do not send that challenge."
"You are very tender of his safety," replied Sir Francis, moving back from her. "But take courage, madam; men like my lord are usually skilled with sword and pistol."
Miss Boyle shrank down on to the seat.
"You insult me, Francis—Francis!"
"What of me? Do you think me wood or stone? And what I say, I mean. Lord Lyndwood is a successful duellist."
"Can you think I want you hurt," she cried frantically, "and by him?"
"You would not, I think, grieve overmuch, madam," he answered bitterly. "I have been sorry fool enough to think I might one day win your regard, and you tell me this! It is very well. I will not distress you with my presence."
But she sprang up and crossed his path as he was leaving her.
"For God's sake, Francis, listen to me. Do not refuse to listen to me now. I have tried to be honest with you from the first." She suddenly slipped to her knees on the path and took his sword hand. "Have some pity, Francis," and she broke into wild tears.