“Faugh!” said I.  “That is but hangman’s work.  And yet in London I heard that this same Colonel Tarleton was with Lord Howe in Philadelphia and was made much of by the ladies.”

Jennifer’s laugh was neither mirthful nor pleasant.

“’Tis a weakness of the sex,” he scoffed.  “The women have a fondness for a man with a dash of the brute in him.”

I laughed also, but without bitterness.

“You say it feelingly.  Do you speak by the book?”

“Aye, that I do.  Now here is my lady Madge preaching peace and all manner of patience to me in one breath, and upholding in the next this baronet captain who, though I would have seconded him at a pinch, is but a pattern of his brutal colonel.”

I put two and two together.

“So Falconnet is on terms at Appleby Hundred, is he?”

“Oh, surely.  Gilbert Stair keeps open house for any and all of the winning hand, as I told you.”

The thought of this unspoiled young maiden having aught to do with such a thrice-accursed despoiler of women made my blood boil afresh; and in the heat of it I let my secret slip, or rather some small part of it.

“Sir Francis had ever a sure hand with the women,” I said; and then I could have bitten my masterless tongue.

“So?” queried Jennifer.  “Then this is not your first knowing of him?”

“No.”  So much I said and no more.

We rode on in silence for a little space, and then my youthling must needs break out again in fresh beseechings.

“Tell me what you know of him, and what it was he said of Madge,” he entreated.  “You can’t deny me now, Jack.”

“I can and shall.  It matters not to you or to any what he is or has been.”

“Why?”

“Because, as God gives me strength and skill, I shall presently run him through, and so his account will be squared once for all with all men—­and all women, as well.”

“God speed you,” quoth my loyal ally.  “I knew not your quarrel with him was so bitter.”

“It is to the death.”

“So it seems.  In that case, if by any accident he—­”

I divined what he would say and broke in upon him.

“Nay, Dick; if he thrusts me out, you must not take up my quarrel.  I know not where you learned to twirl the steel, or how, but you may be sure he would spit you like a trussed fowl in the first bout.  I have seen him kill a man who was reckoned the best short sword in my old regiment of the Blues.”

“Content yourself,” said my young Hotspur, grandly.  “If you spare him he shall answer to me for that thing he said of Madge Stair; this though I know not what it was he said.”

I smiled at his fuming ardor, and glancing at the pair of pistols hanging from his saddle-bow, asked if he could shoot.

“Indifferent well.”

“Then make him challenge you and choose your own weapon.  ’Tis your only hope, and poor enough at that, I fear.  I have heard he can clip a guinea at ten paces.”