"Lie," said the baronet gently, leaning forward, "if belief, Mr. Willoughby, were always to attend and to wait upon deceit 'twere a rare world for the villains. One word more with you: my daughter confessed to me, I wrung it from her, I would know it, that your conduct towards her had been unkind, harsh, cruel, brutal." The young man started and turned deadly pale. "Did she say so? did Marian tell you this?" and as he averted his face, a violent agitation appeared to shake his frame. No, no, no, Sir Robert, I was never unkind, never harsh, never cruel, never, until, until the " "Ha!" cried the baronet triumphantly," do you confess? until the what? until when? what do

you mean

?"

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"Nothing," said Willoughby, "it is past."

"It is not past, Sir, it is not past," exclaimed Sir Robert; "look you, evasion is useless, you cannot deceive me, I know all.”

"Know all, gracious God!" gasped Willoughby, "you cannot know it; she never, surely, told you. What do you know?"

Enough for my present purpose," replied the baronet; "I know this, Willoughby, that you have murdered, for that is the word, the gentlest and the best creature that ever breathed."

"Oh God! oh God! do not urge me further," cried Willoughby, burying his face in his hands; "let me go, let me depart, or hear the business upon which I came."

"Not a word, not a word," said the baronet solemnly, "till this matter be explained. Willoughby, your father was my friend; your mother was dear to my wife; I loved, respected, revered them both. For their sakes I am thus lenient towards you."

"No more," groaned Willoughby, "no more, Sir Robert, I beseech you; let this subject drop; it will be better; it may be safer, suspend your judgment."

"Suspend my judgment, ha! ha!" cried Sir Robert contemptuously, "where shall I suspend it? in the park yonder, I suppose, to scare the crows with; but this is trifling. In one word, tell me, out with it, acknowledge it like a shameless villain, wherefore your treatment of your wife, why your prolonged absence from her?"

"I cannot tell you," cried Willoughby, " indeed I cannot, there were reasons, strong, strong, which you must never know." "But which I will know," said the baronet doggedly.

"You cannot, you must not."

"I must. Will you satisfy me?"

66

No, no, no, I cannot, I must not, I will not."

"Will not, is somewhat peremptory,” cried the baronet; “again I ask you, will you satisfy me?"

66

"No, I will not."

"Once more, the third, the last time, will you satisfy me?" "I will not."

"Enough," exclaimed the baronet, as he struck his hands upon his knees, and sprung to his feet. "This place is cold, Sir, we must take a little exercise to keep our blood in circulation," and as he said this, he proceeded to the extreme end of the gallery, and opened a large and ancient cabinet. "There never yet," said he, as he flung aside the doors, "there never yet, Willoughby, lived the man

since I wore a beard upon my chin, aye, or before that, too, who wronged Robert Aylmer, and escaped unpunished. Here, Sir, aré two swords, the lengths are equal, take one."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Willoughby in surprise.

“You shall know in good time," said the baronet, as he deliberately unsheathed one of the weapons, "here, take your sword, Sir, and defend yourself."

"I will not fight with you," said Willoughby coolly, as he accepted the sword, and laid it upon a chair, "nor can you provoke me, Sir, to raise a hand against you. Command yourself; this is madness." "Ha! a coward too," cried the baronet with a sneer, a coward, too," he repeated, "your father, Mr. Willoughby, would have spurned you for this."

66

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"I am no coward, Sir Robert," said Willoughby reddening, and he took up the sword. "Hear me, Sir, I am skilful at this weapon, I am younger than yourself."

"Tut, tut, boy," cried the baronet contemptuously, "you shall not escape chastisement by bravado, the coward's last resort, I also am skilful at this weapon, or was, before that hand of yours could poise a bulrush."

"I do not question, and I will not witness your skill to-day, Sir Robert," said Willoughby; "I have no quarrel with you, I love and I respect you. You are my father-in-law."

"Liar!" cried the baronet, "that tie has been dissolved. Your valour, Willoughby," said he, as he approached him, " is a sluggish beast, and must be roused, I see. Now, Sir, will you fight me ?" and he struck the other violently with the flat part of his weapon.

"Ha!" cried Willoughby, drawing his sword hastily, "this must not be, Sir, this must not be; but no, I will not revenge this now, I stand upon my defence, no more."

66

Come, this is well, this is well," said the baronet with a grim sinile, as Willoughby placed himself in attitude; "now, Sir, defend yourself," and with his teeth firmly set together, and a kindling eye, the baronet struck his foot upon the floor, and crossed the sword of his antagonist with his own.

The baronet commenced the assault with great coolness and determination, but after a few ineffectual passes, the colour came upon his brow, and the impatient twitching of his lip evinced that he would soon lose the self-possession which had governed him at the first onset. He felt that he had to do with an antagonist equal with himself in skill, and deriving great advantage from his superior command of temper; and this last conviction, as Willoughby put by his sword at every pass with the air of one who defies and almost derides his opponent, chafed him into almost ungovernable rage.

"We must try another system with you, my young gentleman," he cried as he retreated a few paces, and then advanced upon the other with reckless fury; "it is time we should bring this matter to an issue."

"I must wound you, even in my own defence I must wound you, Sir Robert," exclaimed Willoughby, as the baronet pressed upon him. "By heavens I think I touched you there," and as he spoke,

his sword entered the coat of the other, and came out over the shoulder.

"A lie, a lie," shouted the baronet, "I am not wounded, look to yourself."

"A moment's pause, I entreat you," cried Willoughby, and putting by the sword of the baronet, he lowered the point of his own." Let this go no further," he continued, "I am no coward; but let us desist, and I will forget all that has occurred. One word; had you not once a favourable opinion of me?"

"I had-what then?" said the baronet.

Retain it still; and believe me, I never wronged your daughter." The baronet was silent for some minutes, and with folded arms stood gazing at the majestic figure and noble countenance of his son-in-law. "It grieves me, Willoughby," said he, "it grieves me that a brave man should have found it worth his while to be a scoundrel. Why these evasions? what need of further subterfuge? confess, that you have been a base and unmanly villain to your wife."

"Never," exclaimed Willoughby, "would that I could explain all, but no, that must never be ;" and he shook his head mournfully. "We waste time, then," cried the baronet, raising his sword, "her spirit cries to me for blood, for blood, and it must flow, Willoughby," and again he pressed furiously upon his antagonist.

"What use, then, contending with you?" said Willoughby, “see, I am wounded," and at that moment the baronet's sword entered his wrist, "you thirst for my blood, you seek my life, take it," and he threw down his rapier.

The baronet sprung forward, and placed the point of his weapon at the heart of Willoughby. "Die then," said he, "or confess, I give you but one minute. Confess."

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Nothing," said the other unmoved, "you seek my life, take it." "And that I will do, by the God above us," cried the baronet; "confess, confess."

"My life is at your disposal, Sir Robert," said Willoughby calmly, "I have nothing to say. Take it."

The baronet looked up and rivetted his keen dark eye upon the features of his son-in-law. There was an undefinable expression in that face, so unmoved, so serene, so tranquil, that staggered him. Slowly and almost unconsciously he lowered the point of his sword, and placed his hand upon the bosom of Willoughby.

"The pulse is regular," he muttered, "the heart beats as calmly as my own." He threw down his weapon and walked to the window. "I cannot do it now," he said, "not now, in cold blood to shed cold blood-no, no-another time; not now, not now."

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"You have been deceived, Sir Robert," said Willoughby, as he bound up his wrist with a handkerchief, and replaced the swords in a cabinet, "but how, by whom, or in what particular, perhaps you will never know. Let us forget what has just now passed."

The baronet looked round and gazed earnestly at the speaker till he had concluded. An incredulous smile passed on his lip as he stepped out of the recess; but he uttered not a word, and turning

on his heel he walked slowly from the gallery, and descended the staircase; and the closing of a door below apprized Willoughby that he had shut himself in his study.

CHAPTER II.

It was about ten o'clock when Sir Robert's bell rang. A servant entered the library.

"Thomas, you may bring me up some coffee now; what are the gentlemen about below?"

"They are still in the parlour, Sir Robert, in conversation;" and the servant retired, presently returning with the tea service.

"You may fetch me up a bottle of wine in about two hours from this time," said the baronet; "it will be late before I retire to bed." The clock was striking the hour of midnight, when the servant tapped at the library door. There was no answer. He repeated it a second and a third time. There was a stir within as of the closing of a door. "Come in."

"I have brought you the wine, Sir Robert," said the servant. "Oh! thank you. I had forgotten; set it down here."

"Are you not well, Sir?" enquired the servant, as having approached, he marked the ghastly paleness of his master.

"Chilly, cold, Thomas," said the baronet. "I have let my fire out; where is Mr. Courtenay ?"

"He has retired to his own apartment."

"Mr. Willoughby?"

"He is now going to his room, Sir." "That is well," said the baronet.

"It is the room he occupied,

when he was here two years ago, is it not?"

"It is, Sir Robert."

66 Well. You may tell James that I shall not want him to-night; he may go to bed. Good night."

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Why, what a stealthy, villain pace is this?" said he, stopping suddenly, as he walked in silence from the library, and proceeded cautiously down a long passage, "it is a sacrifice to which I go, not a murder; but this is the door." He knocked loudly. "Mr. Willoughby!-within there-Mr. Willoughby!" There was no reply. "And this man can sleep!" ejaculated the baronet: "well, Providence tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and the conscience to the sensitive villain, I suppose." He opened the door quickly, and entered the room; and placing the candle upon a table approached the bed. He drew aside the curtains. Willoughby! arise, man, awake!" and he touched him on the shoulder as he spoke.

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The young man started from a deep sleep. "Who's there?" he cried, rising from the bed.

"It is I," said the baronet, "Robert Aylmer; I am come to talk with you."

"What do you mean, Sir Robert ?" exclaimed Willoughby, "why disturb me at the dead of night, what do you want?"

"I will tell you," said the baronet calmly, "I have been thinking of you the whole evening, and of our meeting this morning. I will M.M.-No. 5.

2 K

no longer require you to confess your villany; it cannot serve, it is useless, and it might cause you to expend lies, for which, if you outlive this night, you may have occasion."

"Wherefore, then, the trouble you have taken to arouse me from sleep? What do you want?"

"Vengeance-your blood-your life-Willoughby--now," and he drew forth a dagger and dashed it, swift as lightning, at the heart of his son-in-law.

Willoughby seized the wrist of the baronet with his left hand at the moment that the point of the dagger was within a hair's breadth of his breast.

When next you attempt a murder,” cried he, "do it like a murderer," and he held back the wrist of the baronet with a strength almost superhuman. "Oh! Sir Robert Alymer, I pity you."

"Slave!" cried the baronet, as he threw himself upon the other, "you have not yet escaped me; my cause is written in heaven, and is approved there, and heaven assists me." A violent struggle ensued, but it was a brief one; for the baronet, although a muscular and determined man, was no adversary for his son-in-law, whose prodigious strength was seconded by youth, and to whom, perhaps, the occasion gave additional power. Wresting the dagger from the baronet's hand, he flung him violently away, and springing from the bed seized the bell-rope.

"Madman! keep off," he cried, "stir but a step and I raise the house. I have you in my power. Do you know what you would have done? an act which would have brought you to an ignominious end."

"You murdered my daughter," said the baronet, looking round wildly in quest of another weapon, "and I would have murdered you. I would, aye, and I will:-you deserve it-the God above knows that you deserve it."

"What we deserve is nothing to the purpose," cried Willoughby, impatiently. "What may you not deserve? how know you what she deserved?" he added hastily, but he checked himself.

The baronet turned short round, and fixed his eyes upon Willoughby, and the breath forced itself from his bosom. He put forth his hands and clenched the air. "Liar, liar, liar, liar," said he, in a quick calm whisper, "what she deserved!" and he approached him slowly, and spit at him. "Liar!" he shouted, raising his hands, "where is heaven's justice, where does justice sleep that it does not blast this villain with its thunder suddenly? Oh! that I could kill you, Willoughby; oh! that I might, might kill you."

The young man caught the arm of the baronet as it descended, and forced him into a chair. "Forgive me," said he, "pardon me I went too far I said too much-oh! Sir Robert, my dear, dear Sir, be calm, compose yourself. Hear me," and he fetched the dagger, and as he laid his hand upon the baronet's arm the tears burst from his 66 eyes, were I at this moment prepared to meet my Maker, and were you prepared to do this deed and to justify it before God and man; heaven is my witness, you should plunge this dagger into my heart. What is my life to me, valueless, worthless, worse, it is a