“Oh, no,” I responded, “of course I should not object to that.”

“Of course not.  I knew you were no fool,” said Sir George.  “Age! why, you are only thirty-five years old—­little more than a matured boy.  I prefer you to any man in England for Dorothy’s husband.”

“You overwhelm me with your kindness,” I returned, feeling that I was being stranded on a very dangerous shore, amidst wealth and beauty.

“Tut, tut, there’s no kindness in it,” returned my cousin.  “I do not offer you Dorothy’s hand from an unselfish motive.  I have told you one motive, but there is another, and a little condition besides, Malcolm.”  The brandy Sir George had been drinking had sent the devil to his brain.

“What is the condition?” I asked, overjoyed to hear that there was one.

The old man leaned toward me and a fierce blackness overclouded his face.  “I am told, Malcolm, that you have few equals in swordsmanship, and that the duello is not new to you.  Is it true?”

“I believe I may say it is true,” I answered.  “I have fought successfully with some of the most noted duellists of—­”

“Enough, enough!  Now, this is the condition, Malcolm,—­a welcome one to you, I am sure; a welcome one to any brave man.”  His eyes gleamed with fire and hatred.  “Quarrel with Rutland and his son and kill both of them.”

I felt like recoiling from the old fiend.  I had often quarrelled and fought, but, thank God, never in cold blood and with deliberate intent to do murder.

“Then Dorothy and all I possess shall be yours,” said Sir George.  “The old one will be an easy victim.  The young one, they say, prides himself on his prowess.  I do not know with what cause, I have never seen him fight.  In fact, I have never seen the fellow at all.  He has lived at London court since he was a child, and has seldom, if ever, visited this part of the country.  He was a page both to Edward VI. and to Queen Mary.  Why Elizabeth keeps the damned traitor at court to plot against her is more than I can understand.  Do the conditions suit you, Malcolm?” asked Sir George, piercing me with his eyes.

I did not respond, and he continued:  “All I ask is your promise to kill Rutland and his son at the first opportunity.  I care not how.  The marriage may come off at once.  It can’t take place too soon to please me.”

I could not answer for a time.  The power to speak and to think had left me.  To accept Sir George’s offer was out of the question.  To refuse it would be to give offence beyond reparation to my only friend, and you know what that would have meant to me.  My refuge was Dorothy.  I knew, however willing I might be or might appear to be, Dorothy would save me the trouble and danger of refusing her hand.  So I said:—­

“We have not consulted Dorothy.  Perhaps her inclinations—­”

“Doll’s inclinations be damned.  I have always been kind and indulgent to her, and she is a dutiful, obedient daughter.  My wish and command in this affair will furnish inclinations enough for Doll.”