you upon your word of honour, that you will give me a cheque for fifty guineas payable by your real bankers to 'bearer for self.' Take your choice; it is quite immaterial to me!"
"Upon my honour, Sir," said the traveller with some surprise struggling to his features, "your coolness and self-possession are quite admirable.—I see you know the world."
"Your Lordship flatters me!" returned Lovett, bowing. "How do you decide?"
"Why, is it possible to write drafts without ink, pen, or paper?"
Lovett drew back, and while he was searching in his pockets for writing implements, which he always carried about him, the traveller seized the opportunity, and suddenly snatching a pistol from the pocket of the carriage, levelled it full at the head of the robber. The traveller was an excellent and practised shot—he was almost within arm's-length of his intended victim—his pistols were the envy of all his Irish friends. He pulled the trigger—the powder flashed in the pan, and the highwayman, not even changing countenance,
