There was little to choose between the attitudes and expressions of the two set stern faces now regarding each other, silently, a foot apart.  But the colonel was the first to speak:—­

“Mr. Hamlin—­sir!  You said a moment ago that I was—­er—­ahem—­responsible for this evening’s affair—­but you expressed a doubt as to who could—­er—­punish me for it.  I accept the responsibility you have indicated, sir, and offer you that chance.  But as this matter between us must have precedence over—­my engagements with that canaille, I shall expect you with your seconds at sunrise on Burnt Ridge.  Good-evening, sir.”

With head erect the colonel left the room.  Mr. Hamlin slightly shrugged his shoulders, turned to the door of the room whither he had just banished the ladies, and in a few minutes his voice was heard melodiously among the gayest.

For all that he managed to get them away early.  When he had bundled them into a large carryall, and watched them drive away through the storm, he returned for a minute to the waiting room for his overcoat.  He was surprised to hear the sound of the child’s voice in the supper room, and the door being ajar, he could see quite distinctly that she was seated at the table, with a plate full of sweets before her, while Colonel Starbottle, with his back to the door, was sitting opposite to her, his shoulders slightly bowed as he eagerly watched her.  It seemed to Mr. Hamlin that it was the close of an emotional interview, for Pansy’s voice was broken, partly by sobs, and partly, I grieve to say, by the hurried swallowing of the delicacies before her.  Yet, above the beating of the storm outside, he could hear her saying,—­

“Yes!  I promise to be good—­(sob)—­and to go with Mrs. Pyecroft—­(sob)—­and to try to like another guardian—­(sob)—­and not to cry any more—­(sob)—­and—­oh, please, don’t you do it either!”

But here Mr. Hamlin slipped out of the room and out of the house, with a rather grave face.  An hour later, when the colonel drove up to the Pyecrofts’ door with Pansy, he found that Mr. Pyecroft was slightly embarrassed, and a figure, which, in the darkness, seemed to resemble Mr. Hamlin’s, had just emerged from the door as he entered.

Yet the sun was not up on Burnt Ridge earlier than Mr. Hamlin.  The storm of the night before had blown itself out; a few shreds of mist hung in the valleys from the Ridge, that lay above coldly reddening.  Then a breeze swept over it, and out of the dissipating mist fringe Mr. Hamlin saw two black figures, closely buttoned up like himself, emerge, which he recognized as Beeswinger and Wynyard, followed by their seconds.  But the colonel came not, Hamlin joined the others in an animated confidential conversation, attended by a watchful outlook for the missing adversary.  Five, ten minutes elapsed, and yet the usually prompt colonel was not there.  Mr. Hamlin looked grave; Wynyard and Beeswinger exchanged interrogatory glances.  Then a buggy was seen driving furiously up the grade, and from it leaped Colonel Starbottle, accompanied by Dick MacKinstry, his second, carrying his pistol case.  And then—­strangely enough for men who were waiting the coming of an antagonist who was a dead shot—­they drew a breath of relief!