He was first to break the silence.

“Miss Lane,” he said, “had I known that Lieutenant Matson was your personal friend, I would have suffered disgrace rather than encountered him.”

With a smile, she answered: 

“It all turned out right.  The lieutenant was scarcely injured at all.”

“Have you heard of him?”

“I have heard from him,” she answered, glancing slyly at Fernando from the corners of her roguish eyes.  “He wrote me a letter which I received to-day.”

Fernando felt a pain at his heart, but it was nothing to compare with the shame and mortification which followed.  She informed him that Lieutenant Matson was so slightly wounded, that his seconds decided on a second fire, and sent a boat to inform them as they had left the beach, but that, although they chased the Americans for miles, they could not bring them back.  Fernando was stunned by the information, and filled with mortification and chagrin.

“Do you think I am afraid to meet him again?” he asked, his voice trembling with ill-suppressed excitement.

“I don’t know; but you won’t, anyway—­you are both my friends, and my friends shall not fight.”

Fernando made no answer, but at that moment he would very much have liked to knock her friend on the head.  Of course a second meeting with the Briton would now have been highly pleasing to the student; but it was out of the question.  The hour on the promontory was passed in alternating bliss and misery, and when the time came to return, he was no nearer the subject dearest of all subjects than before.

He hastened back to the tavern, where he found his Irish friend playing cards with the landlord and winning several weeks’ board in advance.

“Terrence, it is a fine fix you got me in by hurrying away from the sands so soon that morning,” he said angrily, when he got him to his room.

“Why, me boy, what d’ye mane?”

“That lieutenant was only slightly wounded, and that boat was chasing us to bring us back for another shot.”

“So ye’ve heard it at last, me frind?”

“Certainly I have, and now I will be branded as a coward.”

“Lave it all to me.  The Britishers are in trouble enough.  Sure, haven’t ye read the Baltimore papers?  Captain Conkerall is to be tried by a court-martial for gettin’ bastely drunk and goin’ abroad with no garment but his shirt, and a sheet with a hole in it.”  Terrence laughed until the tears trickled down his cheeks.  Fernando could not see how he could help fighting the lieutenant again if he demanded satisfaction; but the Irishman was quite sure the lieutenant would have enough to do to keep his captain out of his dilemma.  Sukey, who had entered during their conversation, said: 

“Oh, Fernando, why didn’t you aim higher and blow his head off?”

“Why did the lieutenant challenge me, when the captain was the injured party?” asked Fernando.