‘Oh! it’s with pistols we fight,’ replied Mr. Fagan.  ’You are no match for Quin with the sword.’

‘I’ll match any man with the sword,’ said I.

’But swords are to-day impossible; Captain Quin is—­is lame.  He knocked his knee against the swinging park-gate last night, as he was riding home, and can scarce move it now.’

‘Not against Castle Brady gate,’ says I:  ’that has been off the hinges these ten years.’  On which Fagan said it must have been some other gate, and repeated what he had said to Mr. Quin and my cousins, when, on alighting from our horses, we joined and saluted those gentlemen.

‘Oh yes! dead lame,’ said Ulick, coming to shake me by the hand, while Captain Quin took off his hat and turned extremely red.  ’And very lucky for you, Redmond my boy,’ continued Ulick; ’you were a dead man else; for he is a devil of a fellow—­isn’t he, Fagan?’

‘A regular Turk,’ answered Fagan; adding, ’I never yet knew the man who stood to Captain Quin.’

‘Hang the business!’ said Ulick; ’I hate it.  I’m ashamed of it.  Say you’re sorry, Redmond:  you can easily say that.’

’If the young Feller will go to DUBLING, as proposed’—­here interposed Mr. Quin.

’I am not sorry—­I’ll not apologise—­and I’ll as soon go to DUBLING as to—!’ said I, with a stamp of my foot.

‘There’s nothing else for it,’ said Ulick with a laugh to Fagan.  ‘Take your ground, Fagan,—­twelve paces, I suppose?’

‘Ten, sir,’ said Mr. Quin, in a big voice; ’and make them short ones, do you hear, Captain Fagan?’

‘Don’t bully, Mr. Quin,’ said Ulick surlily; ‘here are the pistols.’  And he added, with some emotion, to me, ’God bless you, my boy; and when I count three, fire.’

Mr. Fagan put my pistol into my hand,—­that is, not one of mine (which were to serve, if need were, for the next round), but one of Ulick’s.  ‘They are all right,’ said he.  ’Never fear:  and, Redmond, fire at his neck—­hit him there under the gorget.  See how the fool shows himself open.’  Mick, who had never spoken a word, Ulick, and the Captain retired to one side, and Ulick gave the signal.  It was slowly given, and I had leisure to cover my man well.  I saw him changing colour and trembling as the numbers were given.  At ‘three,’ both our pistols went off.  I heard something whizz by me, and my antagonist, giving a most horrible groan, staggered backwards and fell.

‘He’s down—­he’s down!’ cried the seconds, running towards him.  Ulick lifted him up—­Mick took his head.

‘He’s hit here, in the neck,’ said Mick; and laying open his coat, blood was seen gurgling from under his gorget, at the very spot at which I aimed.

‘How is it with you?’ said Ulick.  ‘Is he really hit?’ said he, looking hard at him.  The unfortunate man did not answer, but when the support of Ulick’s arm was withdrawn from his back, groaned once more, and fell backwards.