Blair wrote his letters—there were not many, for Austin Ambrose had so entirely undertaken the management of the vast estates that Blair knew very little about any business pertaining to them.

He commenced a letter to Violet herself, but after several attempts tore it up. He would see her before he started for the meeting, and say good-bye as cautiously as he could.

Then he went out, and, leaving the city behind, wandered into the country beyond.

Still thinking of Margaret and the picture which in so mysterious and strange a manner photographed her and her death, he returned to the palace, and was surprised to find that it was past four.

He went straight to his rooms, and there, on the dressing-table, found Austin Ambrose's note.

Blair destroyed the note, then had a bath, and dressed himself with more than his usual care, doing it with his own hands, and without summoning the valet.

Then he sighed. He could not go on this errand of life or death without saying "good-bye" to his wife. And yet he shrank from it as he now shrank from nothing else connected with the affair. But it had to be done, and he went into her apartments and knocked at the bedroom door which Austin Ambrose had closed after him. There came no answer, and Blair, after waiting for a minute or two, turned away.

He went to the writing table, and taking out a sheet of the scented paper stamped with its gold coronet, wrote a line.

"Good-bye, Violet! Heaven send you every happiness.

Blair."

This he put in an envelope and laid it on the slope where she would see it when she entered the room; which she would do about ten o'clock. If he came out of this affair alive he should return long before that hour and could destroy the note.

Then he put on his cloak, and as quietly as possible left the house. The morning air struck coldly, and with a little shudder he turned up the collar of his coat and lit a cigar.

As the clocks chimed half-past five he reached the ground behind the hospital. A carriage and pair stood under the shelter of some trees, and near it was a group of three men. Blair distinguished the prince by his height; the second man was the general, and the third Blair judged to be the doctor; but Austin Ambrose was not there.

"My friend Mr. Ambrose has not arrived, I see," said Blair cheerfully. "I'm very sorry; but I have no doubt he will be here directly. He left word that he would be here before me."

"He will arrive in a minute or two, no doubt," said the general.

Blair went and leaned against a tree and smoked his cigar placidly. The prince stood at a little distance with folded arms, looking like a statue—a statue of implacability—the other two paced up and down.

A quarter of an hour passed, and the prince beckoned to the general.

"What is the meaning of this delay?" he demanded haughtily.

"His lordship's second has not arrived, your highness."

The prince's face darkened.

"It is a trick—a subterfuge!" he said, with suppressed rage. "When he comes, he will be accompanied by the police, no doubt."

The words were spoken with such an icy distinctness that they reached Blair.

His face flushed, and he flung his cigar away and approached the others.

"Some accident has detained my friend, general," he said. "It is getting late, and if we wait any longer we may be disturbed. Will one of you gentlemen do me the favor of acting for me?"

The two men looked blank; such an arrangement was utterly opposite to all etiquette.

Blair smiled cheerfully.

"Pray don't mind saying no. I am quite willing to dispense with a second."

This suggestion certainly could not be entertained, and after a hurried conference the doctor offered his services; the general and he selected a level piece of ground, and the doctor brought a couple of swords.

"You have brought no weapons, my lord," he said. "The prince begs you will make choice."

Blair chose one at haphazard, then took off his cloak, and coat and waistcoat, and turned up his wristbands.

The doctor eyed him approvingly.

"If the result depended upon strength, my lord," he said, "I should have little fear for you, but——"

"Strength is little to do with it, I know," said Blair smiling; "never mind, sir, I will try not to discredit you."

"You are sure there can be no apology?" said the doctor earnestly.

Blair shook his head.

"I fear not. I think if I were to apologize, the prince would not accept it. He has set his heart upon a fight, and"—he smiled again—"I am not at all inclined to balk him."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders; there was a short and hurried conference between the two seconds, and then they placed their men.

The prince stepped up to his position slowly, and took his stand with that calm, resolute expression on his face which indicated a settled purpose. The gray of coming morning fell upon the open space, the white shirts of the duelists shining out conspicuously in the half light. The general stood at a little distance between them, his handkerchief in his hand, and both men fixed their eyes upon it. Then it dropped and they approached each other slowly and steadily, and looked into each other's eyes.

And in the prince's fixed gaze Blair read his intended death-warrant. He returned the look calmly, almost cheerfully, and the next instant the shining blades crossed with a sharp, hissing sound.

For a few moments each kept his guard, each man trying his adversary's strength.

It had occurred to Blair that he might succeed in wresting the sword from the prince's hand, and in doing it sprain his wrist, and so render him incapable of resuming the duel; but he was speedily convinced of the futility of such an attempt. Though so much slighter than Blair, the prince's wrist was like steel, and let Blair bear ever so heavily, his giant's force was met by its equivalent in steel. Of a certainty there was no chance of disarming the prince.

"His lordship is a better swordsman than I expected," murmured the general. "I always thought that Englishmen did not know how to fence!"

"This man is one of a thousand," said the doctor. "If the prince should only lose his temper he may stand a chance."

The general shook his head.

"He never loses either his temper or his head when he means business, and he means it this morning; look at his face," he added, significantly.

The doctor nodded.

"What can the earl have done to offend him so deeply?" he muttered. "Some woman, I suppose?"

The general nodded succinctly.

"Per Bacco! they are splendidly matched!" he exclaimed, in a low tone of admiration.

At present, indeed, it seemed as if the chances were equal, for, though the prince had made several passes that ought to have carried his sword through Blair's body, Blair had parried them skillfully and gracefully, and still stood untouched.

The prince's face darkened and he paused, for he thought he read Blair's intention. He would wait until the prince had scratched him or inflicted a slight flesh wound, and then declare himself satisfied, the seconds would interfere, and he, the prince, would be balked.

With compressed lips, he commenced the attack again, and, seizing a favorable opportunity, permitted his opponent's sword to cut his arm.

Blair lowered his weapon instantly, and the seconds sprung forward.

"A touch, your highness," said the doctor, in a tone of relief. "My lord, you are satisfied, I presume?"

Blair inclined his head, and wiped the tip of his sword, but the prince smiled grimly.

"Pardon me," he said, slowly, without removing his eyes from Blair's face. "It is a mere scratch, and will not serve as an excuse, even for Lord Ferrers!"

There was so deadly an insult in the tone as well as the words, that Blair's face flamed, and his fingers closed over his hilt.

"When his highness is rested, I am ready to resume," he said, quietly.

The seconds drew back reluctantly.

"Now he will kill him," muttered the general. "Mark my words! At the next thrust Rivani will run him through."

Cautiously, and yet with deadly intentions, the prince resumed the attack. The shining blades gleamed in the pale morning light, and hissed like snakes as they seemed to cling together; Blair put all the science he knew into it, but he felt that the moment would come when the sharp steel, that seemed like something human—or rather diabolical—in its persistence, would slip past his guard and finish the chapter for him; and presently he felt as if a hot iron had pierced his left shoulder; it was followed by the sensation of something warm trickling down his side, and he knew that he was wounded.

The two seconds sprung forward, but it was Blair who waved them back.

"Nothing, nothing!" he said. "Do not interfere, please!"

It would have been dangerous to have persisted in any attempt to stop the men, for the swords were flashing and writhing furiously; the prince was losing his calm; if it went altogether, it would leave him at Blair's mercy.

"By Heaven, it is my man who will be killed!" said the general, with an oath. "What possesses him? Look! he will be in the earl's power directly. Ah!—--"

The exclamation was wrung from him by a pass of Blair's that the prince parried so narrowly that Blair's blade cut his sleeve from elbow to wrist.

The faces of the two men were white as death, their teeth set, their eyes gleaming with that fire which springs from hearts burning for a fellow creature's life.

Another moment would settle it, one way or the other, and Blair, whose strength was beginning to tell, was wearing down the prince's guard; the seconds were, all unconsciously, drawing nearer and nearer in readiness for the fatal moment, when a woman's shriek clave the air, and two figures seemed to spring from the ground, and fling themselves upon the prince.