At last it leaked out that two students had played the trick on Captain Conkerall.  A newspaper reporter came to see Fernando, who gave him a truthful history of the affair.

“You’ve played the divil now,” said Terrence, when he read the interview in the next issue of the Baltimore Sun.

“Why?”

“Never moind, Fernando, I’ll not desert ye, and if my one comes to ye about satisfaction, or inything of the kind, and asks you to mintion your frind, sind thim to Terrence Malone, and he will make the arrangements, that’s all.”

Fernando had no more idea what he meant than if he had addressed him in Hindoo, and he gave the matter little or no further thought.  He was in his room poring over his books the second day after the interview, when there came a rap at his door.

“Come in!” he cried in his broad, western fashion.

The door opened, and, to his surprise, a young English officer entered the apartment.

“Is this Mr. Fernando Stevens?” he asked politely.

“It is.”

“I am the bearer of a message from Lieutenant Matson.”

“Pray who is Lieutenant Matson?”

“Of his majesty’s ship the Xenophon.”

Fernando thought he must be mistaken, as he had not the least recollection of ever hearing of Lieutenant Matson; but the ensign assured him that he was the person with whom the lieutenant had to deal, and then asked if he could refer him to some friend with whom the business might be arranged.  Then the youthful American remembered Terrence Malone’s strange instructions and sent the ensign at once to the young Irishman.

Just how Terrence would settle the matter, he did not know; but he who had such remarkable ability for getting one into a scrape could surely devise some means to get him out, and Fernando was perfectly willing to trust him.  So, deeming the matter wholly settled, he sat down to his books once more, and had actually forgotten the officer, when Terrence bolted into the room his face expressive of anxiety.

“It’s all arranged, me boy.  Ye did right in lavin’ it to me.  The young Britisher and I have made all arrangements.”

“Arrangements? what arrangements?” asked Fernando with guileless innocence.

“Arrangements for the meeting, to be sure.”

“What meeting?”

“Meeting with Lieutenant Matson.”

Throwing down his book, Fernando started up impatiently said: 

“I don’t want to meet the infernal lieutenant.  I thought you had settled it.”

“So I did, and right dacintly, too.  Now what weapons do ye want?”

“Weapons!” cried Fernando, the truth at last beginning to dawn upon him.  “Great Heavens!  Terrence, do you mean a duel?”

“Certainly, me frind, nothin’ ilse.  There’s no way to get out of it, honorably.”