From which it will appear that the principals had been shooting very steadily. The noble Marquis had the heaviest bag, but the lightest pouch; Philip Bouchier had missed five shots, and the Red Lancer three. He would have had one more bird but for an accident.

He

Now the noble Marquis, with his habit of shooting with three guns and two loaders, was wont to expend a good deal of powder and shot upon the ambient air. He had wiped the eye' of his companion on several occasions, and had rarely missed himself. On the whole, he flattered himself that he had done splendidly. was not pleased, therefore, to find that he was only one bird to the good over the man whose capacity as a gunner he had so often sneered at. I wouldn't give a curse,' he observed with his usual good taste, 'for a fellow who draws only where he is sure-he'd make a good gamekeeper, that's all.' His lordship was pleased to make himself disagreeable in other ways, and took, perhaps, rather more curaçoa than was good for him.

When luncheon was over, and they had lit their cigars, little Willie Burbidge sidled up to the Red Lancer, and whispered, 'I say, give us a cartridge.'

'What for?'

'To make a devil.'

(A devil, dear ladies, is a sort of humble firework much esteemed by small boys. You get some gunpowder, wet it, and pinch it up into the form of a pastile. When dry, you light the point, and it fizzes away, throwing out sparks which generally fall upon your clothes and burn them. For this reason there is sometimes a difference of opinion between juveniles and their parents and guardians as to the use of this pyrotechnic.)

'I'll give you one when we get home,' said the Red Lancer. 'O, but I want it now,' persisted the boy.

'Then want must be your master, sonny; cartridges are valuable to-day-stop, though; I think I can let you have one after all,' pursued the good-natured soldier, bethinking himself of the accident before mentioned, by which he had lost the chance of killing a partridge; one that missed fire.'

'What does that mean?'

'Wouldn't go off-here it is.'

'But then it is no use,' pleaded Willie, accepting it with indifference.

'No use to me,' Melville replied, rising and taking up his gun.

'May I venture to inquire,' said Lord Weybridge, whether that absurd rule limiting us to fifty shots is to be persisted in ?'

'No limit was fixed. We agreed to start with fifty; you can have as many more as you please. I shall draw another two dozen, and I advise you to do the same,' answered his host.

'That reminds me,' observed the Red Lancer, that one of mine missed fire. Of course I can have another ?'

'O, of course,' replied two or three voices.

'I don't see that,' Lord Weybridge broke in; a miss is a miss, anyhow.'

'Well, it is not worth discussing,' said Melville carelessly.

'I wonder why you mentioned it then,' sneered the noble Marwhen men are on their honour there should be no hanky

quis; panky.'

'I am sorry I did mention it, but after that last observation I must persist. Do you remember, Bouchier, when we were doubling the hedgerow by the willows, and a single bird got up my side?' 'Yes, you killed.'

With my left-hand barrel; the first missed fire.'

Well, then there is, of course, an end of the question, as you say so,' replied the Squire. Here, Baker' (this to the head-keeper), give Captain Melville a cartridge, and don't count it.'

So that he is to have fifty-one to our fifty ?' said Lord Weybridge.

'I am sure that Captain Melville will return the miss fire if you wish it, my lord,' replied his host; but really, amongst gentlemen' 'I haven't got it to return,' said the Red Lancer, flushing slightly; but if'

The noble Marquis gave a long whistle, rose, and threw away his cigar. If he had said, 'The man is a liar, and trying to cheat,' he could not have expressed his meaning more clearly. The Red Lancer rose too, and sauntered away, merely observing, I suppose you don't want to begin again just yet.' A few minutes afterwards he was seen walking with little Willie, and, as ill-luck would have it, they passed round the wood to a stile where Lord Weybridge had found a place to repose, enjoying another cigar. The Red Lancer had told the boy to run away like a good sonny;' and what passed was known only to the two men, until Melville was overheard to say, in a loud voice, This is not to be endured, my lord. As you will have it-there!' A sharp report followed, and the Marquis fell to the ground weltering in his blood!

'On purpose!' cried Lady Fanny. Shot him on purpose! O, impossible! D'Arcy-Captain Melville-do you hear what they say? Why are you silent? For Heaven's sake, speak!'

There has been too much speaking already; stand aside, dear,' said her brother-in-law, and let us pass. Asking questions will do no good now. Run on to the house and tell your sister. Will that doctor never come?'

Lady Fanny, walking in the park, had seen at a distance the return of the shooting-party much earlier than usual, and wondering

what it could be that was carried so carefully and slowly upon a hurdle, went out of her way to meet them. There she saw the man she was to marry stretched to all appearance dead, and heard that the man she loved had murdered him!

Things looked very black for Captain D'Arcy Melville.

'He has killed me, the villain!-he has killed me,' gasped Lord Weybridge, before he fainted with pain and loss of blood, and the former's angry words, 'As you will have it-there!' spoken just before the shot, were terribly suggestive of premeditation. When the doctor had dressed the wound, and the general confusion and excitement had a little passed away, it was found that the Red Lancer had gone. Things looked blacker still.

He had received (so he said in a hasty note he left for his host) an important telegram calling him at once to his brother. He would return in a day or two at the latest. Would they telegraph to him hourly, if there was danger, the condition of the wounded man ?

Now the state of affairs between Captain Melville and his elder brother was pretty well known. Was this a time to run off about money differences? When had he received this important telegram'? One of the servants stated that it had been given to him that morning. What! before we went out shooting?' Yes, just as the Captain was leaving the house. Blacker and blacker! business was not so pressing, then, as to stop his day's sport.

The

At first, hearty Philip Bouchier would not hear a word against his friend. It was an accident; purely and simply an accident, such as had often happened in the shooting-field. But this sudden flight? Why, good heavens, common humanity should have made him stay and see if the poor fellow was to live or die!

The wound was a frightful one, but not of itself mortal. Imagine a charge of shot going like a ball-as it would at a distance of only five yards-through a man's shoulder. With his constitution he may pull round,' said the doctors, if kept perfectly quiet.' But he would not be quiet. 'Is that villain in custody?' was his first question on regaining consciousness; and the answer threw him into a state of anger that made the bleeding burst out afresh. Nothing short of the sight of a warrant for Captain Melville's apprehension would quiet him.

The shooting-party was broken up; the guests all left; and you may suppose that Philip Bouchier, his wife, and her sister had little time or heart to read newspapers; otherwise they would have read the following paragraph:

'We regret to have to record the decease of Sir Claud Melville of Thorburn, well known and respected for his labours in connection with the education movement. The deceased gentleman was born in the year 1841, and was consequently in the prime of life. He died, after a few hours' illness, at the family seat, and, we are glad