"Be it so. I will attend you."
"In half an hour; and in the fallow ground, the skirts of which your lordship can just discover from this window. We shall not keep you waiting."
"I place myself in your hands, Mr Fortescue. I will meet Mr Sinclair. I owe it to my order, and myself, to give him the fullest satisfaction."
The fullest! mockery of mockeries!
The husband and the seducer met. Not a syllable was exchanged. Lord Minden slightly raised his hat as he entered the ground; but Rupert did not return the salute. His cheek was blanched, his lips bloodless and pressed close together; there was wildness in his eye, but, in other respects, he stood calm and self-possessed, as a statue might stand.
Fortescue loaded the pistols. Rupert fired, not steadily, but determinedly—and missed.
Lord Minden fired, and Rupert fell. Fortescue ran to him.
The ball had struck him in the arm, and shattered it.
The nobleman maintained his position, whilst Fortescue, as well as he was able, stanched the flowing wound, and tied up the arm. Fortunately the mutual second had been a surgeon in the army, and knowing the duty he was summoned to, had provided necessary implements. He left his patient for one instant on the earth, and hastened to his lordship.
"Mr. Sinclair," he said, hurriedly, "must be conveyed to yonder house. Your lordship, I need not say, must quit it. That roof cannot shelter you, him, and——no matter. Your carriage has broken down. Ours is at your service. Take it, and leave it at the next post-town. Yours shall be sent on. There is no time to say more. Yonder men shall help me to carry Mr Sinclair to the inn. When we have reached it, let your lordship be a league away from it."