A Duel

tification. He looked at her dispassionately, almost

upstairs witho

don't think my an

ooped

cut away; but there's no time to do it now--moments are precious. You will have to wait until you're married.

ll

ould do no harm if you were to remove your h

on his s

d tidy myself; I kn

s reached that sort of thing doesn't matter." When they had reached the landing at the top of the stairs the doctor said to her: "By the

itated

is Isabel

e to introduce you to

glove, bringing with it, at the same time, her wedding-ring. Crumpling up her glove she squeezed it into her waistband, the

it, increased its value perhaps a hundred-fold. She thought it simply dowdy. A huge Chippendale bed was in the centre of the room. In it, propped up on pillows, was the figure of a man which,

is

t the

in a whisper their voices were

d devil Twelves

s were plain enough. The doctor evinced no sign of annoyance at the other's somewhat uncomplimentary r

egging your pardon, Miss Burney, for speaking of you in such a manner. But it's the fashio

e is

As I told you, she's sprained her ankle, which m

her

e about that sort of thing than I

nk that

rments of hell will trouble you much. You're past all hurting

s her

Burney. At lea

ame. I acknowledge you as my wife, and I wish all men to a

a

You're both witnesses. I take Isabel

take you for her hus

ahame to be my husband in

ds which was singularly out of place when compared with the matter-of-fact ribaldry which seemed to mark the husky utterance o

he added, still more wheezily, "C

r moved t

d's side?" With the doctor's aid she gained the

or to look upon. His head and face were covered with scanty red hair, which needed cutting. He had a huge head, and his neck was so short and thick that it conveyed a grotesque impression that his head sprang directly from his trunk. His whole form seemed to be afflicted with some sort of tetanus, so tha

can't see her. I

frame heaved; as if seized by a sudden convulsion he

e the last of him. This is likely to be the

some bad dream. It was a scene which she never wholly forgot. The dim light, the quaintly furnished room, the figures of the old man and woman bending this way, then that, as they struggled with the creature on the bed. What ailed him she did no

rung nerves almost beyond endurance. At last there came a lull. The man on the b

w I can't move. If I have to stay here muc

together over the silent figure. After affording them what she deemed

ay somewhere--I don't care whe

answer her directly

ids you; tak

ake her?" the

e best bedroom. Remember that she'

st fifty, and Isabel certainly had not credited her with the capacity to do what she immediatel

walk by you

both the tone

now I

and lifted her bodily from the chair as if she were some gr

rop me!"

ou; you're nothi

nnie seemed to know its geography by instinct. She deposited her burden on what Isabel realised was a bed. Striking a match on a box which she to

very s

carried four of you, and thought nothing of it either. Now can

s myself; but if you would help

when Nannie reappeared, in her hands a pair of large scissors. With their aid she proceeded, still speechless, to cut, first, the laces of Isabel's boot, and then the boot itself, till it came away from her foot. As it came away she did what she boasted she had never before done in her life--she fainted. When she came to herself again she found that Nannie, who had apparently remained indifferent to the fact that her senses had left her, having bat

a luxurious sigh, as she recognised what a

-anyway I'm not wanti

th surprise; the to

you think that y

ou!--li

orn to have been more eloquent. Without condescending to further speech, as if everything had been sa

husband

ed swiftly

r--w

husb

and!--your

the same wealth of scorn. Isabel wa

nd--you know he

ng it, ma'am, or that you're a fit and proper wife for him. I

he d

was a trifle more subdued; she was finding

an so long as you've been acquainted with your man, so that you've come to know all the secrets of his heart, and the very shape and fashion of the soul which God has lent him, to be sure all her nature stirs within her

the door with a swishing movement, which was in harmon