He ceased quivering all at once.

“You are going to meet him!” he cried, in another voice.  “Yes, yes, it is so,—­it is so.  I will tell you all.”

“Keep it to yourself, Mr. Manners,” I replied, with repugnance, “I have heard all I wish.  Where is he?” I demanded.

“Hold the path until you come to him.  And God bless—­”

I shook my head.

“No, not that!  Do you go back to the company and make some excuse for me.  Do not alarm them.  And if you get the chance, tell Lord Comyn where to come.”

I waited until I saw him under the lights of the Grand Walk, and fairly running.  Then I swung on my heel.  I was of two minds whether to wait for Comyn, by far the wiser course.  The unthinking recklessness I had inherited drove me on.

CHAPTER XLI

THE WILDERNESS

My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and presently I made out a bench ahead, with two black figures starting from it.  One I should have known on the banks of the Styx.  From each came a separate oath as I stopped abreast them, and called the duke by name.

“Mr. Carvel!” he cried; “what the devil do you here, sir?”

“I am come to keep an appointment for Mr. Manners,” I said.  “May I speak to your Grace alone?”

He made a peculiar sound by sucking in his breath, meant for a sneering laugh.

“No,” says he, “damned if you shall!  I have nothing in common with you, sir.  So love for Miss Manners has driven you mad, my young upstart.  And he is not the first, Lewis.”

“Nor the last, by G—­,” says the captain.

“I have a score to settle with you, d—­n you!” cried Chartersea.

“That is why I am here, your Grace,” I replied; “only you have twisted the words.  There has been foul play enough.  I have come to tell you,” I cried, boiling with anger, “I have come to tell you there has been foul play enough with a weakling that cannot protect himself, and to put an end to your blackmail.”

In the place of an oath, a hoarse laugh of derision came out of him.  But I was too angry then to note its significance.  I slapped his face—­nay, boxed it so that my palm stung.  I heard his sword scraping out of the scabbard, and drew mine, stepping back to distance at the same instant.  Then, with something of a shudder, I remembered young Atwater, and a 380 brace of other instances of his villany.  I looked for the captain.  He was gone.

Our blades, the duke’s and mine, came together with a ring, and I felt the strength of his wrist behind his, and of his short, powerful arm.  The steel sung with our quick changes from ‘quarte’ to ‘tierce’.  ’Twas all by the feeling, without light to go by, and hatred between us left little space for skill.  Our lunges were furious.  ’Twas not long before I felt his point at my chest, but his reach was scant.  All at once the music swelled up voices and laughter were wafted faintly from the pleasure world of lights beyond.  But my head was filled, to the exclusion of all else, with a hatred and fury.  And (God forgive me!) from between my teeth came a prayer that if I might kill this monster, I would die willingly.