Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reade Reade

was not Mr. Peyton's grey horse young Neville had ridden in upon.

      Now amongst these gentlemen was a young squire Miss Peyton had refused, and galled him. He had long owed Gaunt a grudge for seeming to succeed where he had notably failed, and, now, hearing him talk so much about the grey, he smelt a rat. He stepped into the parlor and told Neville Gaunt was fuming about the grey horse, and questioning everybody. Neville, though he put so bold a face on his recent adventure at Peyton Hall, was secretly smarting, and quite disposed to sting Gaunt in return. He saw a tool in this treacherous young squire—his name was Galton—and used him accordingly.

      Galton, thoroughly primed by Neville, slipped back and, choosing his opportunity, poisoned Griffith Gaunt.

      And this is how he poisoned him. "Oh," said he, "Neville has bought the grey nag; and cost him dear, it did." Griffith gave a sigh of relief; for he at once concluded old Peyton had sold his daughter's very horse. He resolved to buy her a better next week with Mr. Charlton's money.

      But Galton, who was only playing with him, went on to explain that Neville had paid a double price for the nag; he had given Miss Peyton his piebald horse in exchange, and his troth into the bargain. In short, he lent the matter so adroit a turn, that the exchange of horses seemed to be Kate's act as much as Neville's, and the inference inevitable.

      "It is a falsehood," gasped Griffith.

      "Nay," said Galton, "I had it on the best authority: but you shall not quarrel with me about it; the lady is nought to me, and I but tell the tale as 'twas told to me."

      "Then who told it you?" said Gaunt, sternly.

      "Why it is all over the county, for that matter."

      "No subterfuges, sir. I am the lady's servant, and you know it: this report, it slanders her, and insults me: give me the author, or I'll lay my hunting whip on your bones."

      "Two can play at that game," said Galton; but he turned pale at the prospect of the pastime.

      Griffith strode towards him, black with ire.

      Then Galton stammered out: "It was Neville himself told me."

      "Ah!" said Griffith; "I thought so. He is a liar, and a coward."

      "I would not advise you to tell him so," said the other, maliciously: "he has killed his man in France. Spitted him like a lark."

      Griffith replied by a smile of contempt.

      "Where is the man?" said he, after a pause.

      "How should I know?" asked Galton, innocently.

      "Where did you leave him five minutes ago?"

      Galton was dumbfoundered at this stroke; and could find nothing to say.

      And now, as often happens, the matter took a turn not in the least anticipated by the conspirators. "You must come with me, sir, if you please," said Griffith, quietly: and he took Galton's arm.

      "Oh, with all my heart," said the other; "but, Mr. Gaunt, do not you take these idle reports to heart. I never do. What the devil—where are you carrying me to? For Heaven's sake, let this foolish business go no farther."

      For he found Griffith was taking him to the very room where Neville was.

      Griffith deigned no reply: he just opened the door of the room in question, and walked the tale-bearer into the presence of the tale-maker. George Neville rose and confronted the pair with a vast appearance of civility; but under it a sneer was just discernible.

      The rivals measured each other from head to foot, and then Neville inquired to what he owed the honor of this visit.

      Griffith replied: "He tells me you told him Miss Peyton has exchanged horses with you."—"Oh! you indiscreet person," said George, shaking his finger playfully at Galton.—"And, by the same token, has plighted her troth to you."

      "Worse and worse," said George. "Galton, I'll never trust you with any secrets again. Besides, you exaggerate."

      "Come, sir," said Griffith, sternly: "this Ned Galton was but your tool, and your mouth-piece; and therefore I bring him here to witness my reply to you: Mr. George Neville, you are a liar and a scoundrel."

      George Neville bounded to his feet like a tiger. "I'll have your life for those two words," he cried.

      Then he suddenly governed himself by a great effort: "It is not for me to bandy foul terms with a Cumberland savage," said he. "Name your time and place."

      "I will. Ned Galton, you may go, I wish to say a few words in private to Mr. Neville."

      Galton hesitated. "No violence, gentlemen: consider."

      "Nonsense," said Neville. "Mr. Gaunt and I are going to fight: we are not going to brawl. Be so good as to leave us."

      "Ay," said Griffith: "and, if you repeat a word of all this, woe be to your skin."

      As soon as he was gone, Griffith Gaunt turned very grave and calm, and said to George Neville, "The Cumberland savage has been better taught than to expose the lady he loves to gossiping tongues."

      Neville colored up to the eyes at this thrust.

      Griffith continued, "The least you can do is to avoid fresh scandal."

      "I shall be happy to co-operate with you so far," said Neville, stiffly. "I undertake to keep Galton silent: and for the rest, we have only to name an early hour for meeting, and confide it to but one discreet friend apiece who will attend us to the field. Then there will be no gossip, and no bumpkins nor constables breaking in—such things have happened in this county, I hear."

      It was Wednesday. They settled to meet on Friday at noon on a hill-side between Bolton and Neville's Court. The spot was exposed; but so wild and unfrequented that no interruption was to be feared. Mr. Neville being a practiced swordsman, Gaunt chose pistols; a weapon at which the combatants were supposed to be pretty equal. To this Neville very handsomely consented.

      By this time a stiff and elaborate civility had taken the place of their heat, and at parting they bowed both long and low to each other.

      Griffith left the inn and went into the street. And, as soon as he got there, he began to realize what he had done, and that in a day or two he might very probably be a dead man. The first thing he did was to go with sorrowful face and heavy step to Mr. Houseman's office.

      Mr. Houseman was a highly respectable solicitor. His late father and he had long enjoyed the confidence of the gentry, and this enabled him to avoid litigious business, and confine himself pretty much to the more agreeable and lucrative occupation of drawing wills, settlements, and conveyances; and effecting loans, sales, and transfers. He visited the landed proprietors, and dined with them, and was a great favorite in the county.

      "Justicing day" brought him many visits; so on that day he was always at his place of business. Indeed a client was with him when Griffith called, and the young gentleman had to wait in the outer office for full ten minutes.

      Then a door opened, and the client in question came out, looking mortified and anxious. It was Squire Peyton. At sight of Gaunt, who had risen to take his vacant place, Kate's father gave him a stiff nod, and an unfriendly glance, then hurried away.

      Griffith was hurt at his manner. He knew very well Mr. Peyton looked higher for his daughter than Griffith Gaunt: but for all that the old gentleman had never shown him any personal dislike or incivility until this moment.

      So Griffith could not but fear that Neville was somehow at the bottom of this, and that the combination was very strong against him. Now in thus interpreting Mr. Peyton's manner, he fell into a very common error and fruitful cause of misunderstanding. We go and fancy that Everybody is thinking of us. But he is not: he is like us; he is thinking of himself.

      "Well, well," thought Griffith, "if I am not to have her, what better place for me than the grave?"

      He entered Mr. Houseman's private room and opened his business at once.

      But a singular concurrence