wanted here, with one of his constables, for that murder has been
done."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Colonel Holliday said.

"Sir William Brownlow, I make every excuse for you in your grief,
but even from you I will permit no such word to be used. Your son
has been wounded in fair fight, and whether he dies or not, alters
the circumstances no whit. My grandson found him engaged in
offering a gross insult to a young lady in the garden of my house.
He did what I should have done had I so found him--he knocked him
down. They fought, and your son was worsted. I think, sir, that for
the credit of your house you had best be quiet over the matter.

"Hush, sir," he went on sternly, seeing that the baronet was about
to answer furiously. "I am an old man, but I will put up with
bluster from no man."

Colonel Holliday's repute as a swordsman was well known, and Sir
William Brownlow swallowed his passion in silence. A door was taken
off its hinges, and the insensible young man was carried into the
house. There he was received by Mistress Holliday, who was vehement
in her reproaches against Rupert, and even against Colonel
Holliday, who had, as she said, encouraged him in brawling.

The colonel bent quietly before the storm; and leaving the wounded
man in the care of his daughter-in-law and the attendants, made his
way to the stables, to inquire what had become of Rupert. There he
found that a few minutes before, Rupert, accompanied by Hugh
Parsons, had ridden off at full speed, having placed valises and a