‘It is arranged for to-morrow at daybreak,’ he said, ‘on the sands yonder, two miles from Boulogne. As you are the challenger, they had the choice of weapons. They have chosen pistols.’
‘Very well.’
‘Have you ever practised at a mark?’
Forster-shook his head.
‘I have never fired a pistol in my life.’
‘Then it is an ugly affair. Let me entreat you, accept me as your substitute—I will force them to consent——’
‘No,’ answered Forster with determination. ‘It is my place, not yours. I shall either avenge my poor martyred wife or follow her to the grave.’