his sixteen-mile-an-hour paces, egad! I wing my man in a trice; and take all the parties home to Pall Mall, to celebrate the event with a grilled bone, Havannahs, and Regent's punch. Ah! there! that 's Cleveland that we have just passed, going to the ground in a chariot: he's a dead man, or my name 's not Poynings—"
"Come, Sir John; no fear of Cleveland's dying," said Vivian with a smile.
"What, you mean to fire in the air, and all that sort of thing?—sentimental, but slip-slop!"
The ground is measured—all is arranged. Cleveland, a splendid shot, fired first. His pistol grazed Vivian's elbow. Vivian fired in the air. The seconds interfered. Cleveland was implacable—and "in the most irregular manner," as Sir John declared, insisted upon another shot. To the astonishment of all, he fired quite wild. Vivian shot at random; and his bullet pierced Cleveland's heart. Cleveland sprang nearly two yards from the ground, and
