“Into what a cursed scrape have I got myself!” thought the major, as he walked by the side of his companion, ever and anon casting wistful glances over his shoulder.  “I am fairly caught on the horns of a dilemma.  I instinctively feel that Disbrowe is dogging us.  What will become of me?  The moment this harebrained coxcomb enters the house, I will see whether a light pair of heels cannot bear me out of harm’s way.”

By this time, they had reached a passage known as Bear-alley (all traces of which have been swept away by modern improvements), and threading it, they entered a narrow thoroughfare, called Castle-street.  Just as they turned the corner, Pillichody again noticed the figure at the further end of the alley, and, but for his fears of the knight, would have instantly scampered off.

“Are we far from the house?” inquired Parravicin.

“No,” replied the major, scarcely able to conceal his trepidation.  “It is close at hand—­and so is the lady’s husband.”

“So much the better,” replied the knight; “it will afford you some amusement to beat him off.  You may affect not to know him, and may tell him the lady’s husband is just come home—­her husband!—­do you take, Pillichody?”

“I do—­ha! ha!  I do,” replied the major, in a quavering tone.

“But you don’t appear to relish the jest,” rejoined Parravicin, sneeringly.

“Oh, yes, I relish it exceedingly,” replied Pillichody; “her husband—­ha!—­ha!—­and Disbrowe is the disappointed lover—­capital!  But here we are—­and I wish we were anywhere else,” he added to himself.

“Are you sure you are right?” asked Parravicin, searching for the key.

“Quite sure,” returned Pillichody.  “Don’t you see some one behind that wall?”

“I see nothing,” rejoined the knight.  “You are afraid of shadows, major.”

“Afraid!” ejaculated Pillichody.  “Thousand thunders!  I am afraid of nothing.”

“In that case, I shall expect to find you have slain Disbrowe, on my return,” rejoined Parravicin, unlocking the door.

“The night is chilly,” observed the major, “and ever since my campaigns in the Low Countries, I have been troubled with rheumatism.  I should prefer keeping guard inside.”

“No, no, you must remain where you are,” replied the knight, shutting the door.

Pillichody was about to take to his heels, when he felt himself arrested by a powerful arm.  He would have roared for aid, but a voice, which he instantly recognised, commanded him to keep silence, if he valued his life.

“Is your companion in the house?” demanded Disbrowe, in a hollow tone.

“I am sorry to say he is, Captain Disbrowe,” replied the bully.  “I did my best to prevent him, but remonstrance was in vain.”

“Liar,” cried Disbrowe, striking him with his clenched hand.  “Do you think to impose upon me by such a pitiful fabrication?  It was you who introduced me to this heartless libertine—­you who encouraged me to play with him, telling me I should easily strip him of all he possessed—­you who excited his passion for my wife, by praising her beauty—­and it was you who put it into his head to propose that fatal stake to me.”