you almost expected that the cracked paving-stones would crumble under the proud stamp of his heel-and his gold-headed bamboo came down with a crash at every step which sounded like a note of warning.

Captain Snawley had a high opinion of himself, and generally a low opinion of everybody else. As for the Mayor of Hogswell, he was nobody in Captain Snawley's eyes. Captain Snawley told him so when he was called on at the Town Hall to show cause why his dog went unmuzzled in the dog days, a mayoral order to the contrary notwithstanding. Captain Snawley on that occasion used the beforementioned gold-headed cane over the shoulders of Bill Short, the parish constable, when he served the summons, and shook it at the mayor when he attended the court; for the first of which offences he had to pay £5, and for the second to give bail to keep the peace to all his Majesty's subjects in general, and the said mayor in particular. In fact "the Capting," little as he was, was regarded as a sort of fire-eater in Hogswell, and respected accordingly; the world being much more ready to be civil to those who are prepared to pull the world's nose, than to those who are disposed to shake it by the hand. There were, perhaps, only two persons in and about Hogswell with whom "the Capting was on friendly terms-one was Mr. Murdoch, a gentleman as proud as himself, who had been upon "the staff;" the other, Mrs. Colonel Blusterton, who was his sister; and people did say that it was to the fact of the relationship Mrs. Blusterton was indebted for her comparative independence of her lord and master. Half an hour after Mrs. Blusterton had seen Captain Snawley, the latter, mounted on his grey pony, which he rode as though it had been a gigantic war-horse, was seen trotting off more rigid and erect than ever, and carrying his cane like a drawn sword, in the direction of Coverdale Park.

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH MISCHIEF COMES TO A HEAD.

Harry had spent a very dull night; he had not slept a wink; he had not seen Alice-in fact he had not been in bed. The butler found an empty wine bottle in the library next morning. Harry had gone out before Alice was up, and that was earlier than usual, for she went to seek him almost as soon as it was light, to beg him to be reconciled to her. Wilkins told her that he had taken his gun. Harry, however, was not shooting; he had not loaded his gun, and he never noticed that, nor the birds, nor anything else. It was a long time since he had felt so miserable. He walked about for hours, thinking what an unlucky fellow he was. He felt that he was wrong, but that did not mend the matter. To some minds being in the wrong is an additional aggravation. But he felt, too, that he was right, or, what appeared to him much the same thing, that others were wrong too. There was Alice, she had told Mrs. Blusterton everything; he knew she had, and she had no right to do that; and then that old cat, what business had she to come poking her nose in and interposing; they would have made it all up if it had not been for her. Blusterton was a good fellow enough, but a fool, or he would not stand her ways. Hang it all, it was no use going on in

that way, was the conclusion Harry came to at last, after a great deal of melancholy pondering. He would go back and see Alice, and set it all right, he said to himself, as his good-heartedness resumed its sway; and as for that old woman he would get Alice to cut her, as indeed, after what had passed the night before, was imperative, and they would both give way a little and be comfortable. So Harry got off the stump of a tree where he had sat while making these reflections, and lifting his gun on his shoulder made for home in that sort of bewilderment arising from being up all night, and not being quite certain of what he was going to do, or how exactly he was going to do it.

As he was walking dreamily up the park, Harry heard the sound of a horse's feet behind him, and, looking round, there came trotting up Captain Snawley on his grey pony. Harry, who had had but a passing acquaintance with the Captain, and whose ideas were not very clear, stopped and confronted the visitor, who met him with a military salute, and a stiff "Mr. Coverdale, I presume."

"That is my name," said Harry.

Captain Snawley deliberately removed his cane from its sword-like attitude on his shoulder to under his left arm-as deliberately unbuttoned and drew off his military buckskin glove-with equal deliberation took a case from his pocket and a card thereout, and handed it to Harry.

Captain Snawley," Harry read, doubtfully, as though he did not exactly know what it meant.

The Captain bowed affirmatively, and looked as grim as a figurehead. Then there was a pause, and the two men stood looking at one another, Harry on the ground wondering what was to come next, the Captain in his long stirrups as rigid as a grenadier at the word "attention." At last Harry asked, as the individuality of the Captain struggled dimly across his memory, "Pray, sir, what may your business with me be ?"

The Captain, grimmer than ever, produced his snuff-box, and settling himself more sideways upon his pony, so as to address his auditor with greater effect, answered, spitting out his words with a peculiar slow jerk, "I am Mrs. Blusterton's brother, sir, and in that capacity I call on you for an explanation of the ungentlemanly and insulting language you used to her last night."

Harry was half inclined to laugh, and a smile did cross his face, at which the Captain looked fiercer than ever, and took two pinches of snuff in rapid succession. He was more than half angry, too, and it went against his grain to eat humble pie; but he knew enough of the Captain to be aware that quarrelling with him was a somewhat serious matter, so he said, "I am sorry if I used any words last night offensive to Mrs. Blusterton, but she certainly had no right to meddle in my domestic affairs."

"Am I to understand, sir, that you make an unqualified apology" asked the Captain.

Now Harry was ready to make an "unqualified" apology the moment before and only wanted to let himself down easy, but he did not like the word, and he still less liked the tone, so he replied "I thought that was an apology."

The Captain was a martinet, and like most martinets punctilious.

He was not to be put off in that way. He divided his case into heads and thus stated them :-" Permit me to say, sir, that I cannot receive that as an apology, because, sir, it is not an apology. In the first place, you said 'if,' which implied a doubt of my sister's veracity or of my veracity, or both; and in the second place, you made an accusation of meddling, sir, which is an aggravation of your ungentleman-like conduct"-and the captain spat out ungentlemanlike with particular unction.

"Rum character," thought Harry-" something between a fireeater and a lawyer," but he did not say so; what he did say was"I intended it for an apology." The Captain made a gesture which Harry thought was contemptuous, and that fired his pride as well as diminished his stock of patience, so he added what would as well have been left unsaid "and as much apology as I think ought to be required."

The Captain's voice grew more polite as he remarked-" Allow me to say that I am of a different opinion, and that I demand an unqualified and humble apology, for conduct which was both impertinent and cowardly."

Harry's blood boiled. "Cowardly!" He stepped up to the Captain, and laying his hand on the pony's mane, asked if that gentleman wanted to quarrel with him? and warned him that if he said cowardly again, he would pull him off his pony and punish the offence there and then.

The Captain settled himself upright in his saddle, put up his snuffbox, gathered up his reins, took his gold-headed cane in his hand, cleared his throat, and then said quietly-" Cowardly."

In a moment Harry was upon him. The cane came down once on Harry's hat, beating in the crown; the next moment the Captain was on the ground, the cane smashed in two and himself in a grasp which rendered him powerless; while the pony stood by looking on as though with astonishment at the scene. Harry was half ashamed of himself directly, a fact which was lucky for the Captain, for after the first shake that gentleman was left to recompose his ruffled dignity.

The way in which the Captain accomplished that feat was very characteristic. There was no hurry about it; he picked himself up with the utmost gravity, buttoned the top button of his coat, which had been unfastened in the struggle-brushed off a little dirt with nis handkerchief-collected the scattered remnants of his goldheaded cane, and then casting one grim look at the retreating form of Harry, mounted and rode back the way he came as erect as though he had come from a triumph. The Captain was a good Christian, at least he proved himself so by going to church twice every Sunday and refraining from going to sleep during even the most prosy sermons of the Rev. Mr. Blower-a feat very few were able to accomplish; but, if the reader should think that his calmness was the result of Christian charity, he will be deceived.

What was the result of this contest upon Harry, who was walking home in a frame of mind which made reconciliation with Alice likely? It made him less amiable than ever. Some folks carry good intentions as a waiter carries a tray full of glasses. If there is nothing in the way to stumble over all goes on smoothly-if an

obstacle happens to trip up the bearer there is a smash. Harry's was a mind of this order. He was what people are in the habit of calling "a good-tempered man"-meaning one of those who are very pleasant till they are vexed; and the new element of disagreeableness acted upon him as thunder does on small beer, it turned him sour. It was all the fault of Alice telling that confounded old mischiefmaking tabby-she had no business to do it. There was no consolation in thinking that he had been wrong first-that he ought not to have given her anything to tell about. That did not make it any better, rather worse; and so feeling his temper would not bear much more he avoided his wife. This was accomplished the more easily, as Alice was crying in her own room.

The intentions of Captain Snawley were not long doubtful. Before many hours had gone over, Harry, who had shut himself up in the library in a brown study, was apprised of the advent of Mr. Murdoch, and was at no loss to guess his errand. Mr. Murdoch made his appearance with an air which showed that he did not stand in any fear of physical force. Strong as Harry was, he would not have stood any chance with that gentleman, if looks could be trusted. Mr. Murdoch was a modern giant, tall and broad, and muscular and angular, with high cheek bones, close cut grisly hair, enormous ears which stood out from his short cropped iron-grey hair, and a general expression which might be described as ferociously punctilious. He gave you a vague impression of an ogre who could eat you, and would not feel much scruple about doing it; but who, you might be sure, would perform the ceremony with all due observance of formalities. After bowing with the grace of a stiff elephant, he informed Harry, in a voice flavoured with a slight Scotch accent and embellished by a very perceptible snuffle, (the latter the result of long continued snuff-taking, the consequences of which also ornamented his clothes,) that he was Captain Snawley's "freend," and that his mission was to "requeest" Mr. Coverdale to name "a freend on his pairt," to arrange for "sawtisfaction for the personal indeegneety" to which Captain Snawley had been so unwarrantably subjected. This information Mr. Murdoch gave standing, with his hat in one hand and a portentous-looking walking-stick in the other, and altogether with the air of a man who would not in the slightest degree object to the same experiment being tried upon him.

Harry saw at a glance that it would be altogether useless to reason with his visitor. He was not a fighting man-but he knew that he could not well avoid meeting Snawley after what had occurred, without incurring conventional penalties which he could not submit to, and so he referred Mr. Murdoch to Tom Rattleworth, who, besides being a military man, was the only person handy to whom he could apply to do him the favour of arranging for his being shot at, and standing by while it was done. Mr. Murdoch received the reference with a snort, which might betoken satisfaction, or snuff-wished Harry a "vary gude day," and took his departure.

Harry had already despatched a hurried note to Tom Rattleworth, warning him of the services which might be required at his hands, and ordered a horse to be in readiness. He now wrote a note to Alice, telling her that he was suddenly called away to London for a

day or two, and then rode off by a short cut to Tom's, hoping to get there before the dragon who was engaged on Captain Snawley's behalf. In that he succeeded-Tom met him at the door, sent his horse round to the stable, and inducted him into the snug bachelor's sitting-room, to talk over the matter.

"This is a devilish nasty affair," said Tom; "but I don't exactly understand it-how did it all happen?"

Harry related the story,-softening down his disappointment of Alice,-doing full justice to the aggravating demeanour of Mrs. Blusterton, and describing the assault upon the Captain. "I don't know how the deuce it was," he said, alluding to the last incident, "that I came to touch the drilled automaton-I am generally quiet enough, but the fellow looked so provokingly stiff, and sat on that brute of a pony of his as though it were a throne and I was his subject; and altogether, what with being vexed at the time and one thing or another, I couldn't keep my hands off the fellow."

"Whew!" whistled Tom; " that is awkward,-d-d awkward. You might have got over the affair with that infernal old woman, but this 'pon my soul, I don't see how you are to get out of it." "Well, I must go through with it."

"I suppose you must-very unpleasant though-just as the hunting season is coming on too. You don't know this Snawley-a dangerous customer, I can tell you. Why its only the fear of him keeps old Blusterton in order. He'd have thrashed his wife long enough ago-and served her right too-(Harry assented heartily) only he knew what would come of it. Why, Snawley-he was known as fighting Snawley' in the Peninsula-puts up flower-pots on end in his garden-Harry Smiles told me he can see it through his back-window-and fires through the hole in the bottom by way of keeping up his pistol practice, d-n him."

"Pleasant," muttered Harry, thinking it would be much more agreeable if the captain confined his practice to flower-pots, instead of trying to make holes where nature never intended there should

be any.

66

"Here comes Murdoch," said Tom, looking out at the window, which afforded a view of the enemy riding up. Now you stay here quietly-there's some brandy and cigars in that cupboard-while I go and talk to him."

Harry did not keep quiet-neither did he take advantage of the brandy and cigars. He walked up and down the room, and felt very uncomfortable. It was not that he was afraid exactly, for Harry did not want courage; but if any gentleman who reads this has contemplated being shot at, with a probability of realising the idea in practice, he will understand the sensation which is the contrary of tranquillizing-especially if your opponent have the reputa tion of being a dead shot. We heard an Irish lieutenant, a confirmed fire-eater, declare that he thought no more of "turfing his man than ating his breakfast, begad,"-but even he acknowledged that the first time he felt "mighty onaisy indade;" and this was Harry's "first time," and then the quarrel had come about in so unsatisfactory a way, and altogether he felt it was, as Tom Rattleworth had said, "devilish awkward." It seemed an age to him till Tom came back. However, "ages" will pass by, whether they are