The old gentlemen, from their peepholes in the Magazine, watched the progress of this remarkable affair of honour, as well as they could, with the aid of their field-glasses, and through an interposing crowd.

‘By Jupiter, Sir, he’s through him!’ said Colonel Bligh, when he saw O’Flaherty go down.

‘So he is, by George!’ replied General Chattesworth; ‘but, eh, which is he?’

‘The long fellow,’ said Bligh.

‘O’Flaherty?— hey!— no, by George!— though so it is — there’s work in Frank Nutter yet, by Jove,’ said the general, poking his glass and his fat face an inch or two nearer.

‘Quick work, general!’ said Bligh.

‘Devilish,’ replied the general.

The two worthies never moved their glasses; as each, on his inquisitive face, wore the grim, wickedish, half-smile, with which an old stager recalls, in the prowess of his juniors, the pleasant devilment of his own youth.

‘The cool, old hand, Sir, too much for your new fireworker,’ remarked Bligh, cynically.

‘Tut, Sir, this O’Flaherty has not been three weeks among us,’ spluttered out the general, who was woundily jealous of the honour of his corps. ‘There are lads among our fireworkers who would whip Nutter through the liver while you’d count ten!’

‘They’re removing the — the —(a long pause) the body, eh?’ said Bligh. ‘Hey! no, see, by George, he’s walking but he’s hurt.’

‘I’m mighty well pleased it’s no worse, Sir,’ said the general, honestly glad.

‘They’re helping him into the coach — long legs the fellow’s got,’ remarked Bligh.

‘These — things — Sir — are — are — very — un-pleasant,’ said the general, adjusting the focus of the glass, and speaking slowly — though no Spanish dandy ever relished a bull-fight more than he an affair of the kind. He and old Bligh had witnessed no less than five — not counting this — in which officers of the R.I.A. were principal performers, from the same sung post of observation. The general, indeed, was conventionally supposed to know nothing of them, and to reprobate the practice itself with his whole soul. But somehow, when an affair of the sort came off on the Fifteen Acres, he always happened to drop in, at the proper moment, upon his old crony, the colonel, and they sauntered into the demi-bastion together, and quietly saw what was to be seen. It was Miss Becky Chattesworth who involved the poor general in this hypocrisy. It was not exactly her money; it was her force of will and unflinching audacity that established her control over an easy, harmless, plastic old gentleman.

‘They are unpleasant — devilish unpleasant — somewhere in the body, I think, hey? they’re stooping again, stooping again — eh?— plaguy unpleasant, Sir (the general was thinking how Miss Becky’s tongue would wag, and what she might not even do, if O’Flaherty died). Ha! on they go again, and a — Puddock — getting in-and that’s Toole. He’s not so much hurt — eh? He helped himself a good deal, you saw; but (taking heart of grace) when a quarrel does occur, Sir, I believe, after all, ’tis better off the stomach at once — a few passes — you know — or the crack of a pistol — who’s that got in-the priest — hey? by George!’

‘Awkward if he dies a Papist,’ said cynical old Bligh — the R.I.A. were Protestant by constitution.

‘That never happens in our corps, Sir,’ said the general, haughtily; ‘but, as I say, when a quarrel — does — occur — Sir — there, they’re off at last; when it does occur — I say — heyday! what a thundering pace! a gallop, by George! that don’t look well (a pause)— and — and — a — about what you were saying — you know he couldn’t die a Papist in our corps — no one does — no one ever did — it would be, you know — it would be a trick, Sir, and O’Flaherty’s a gentleman; it could not be-(he was thinking of Miss Becky again — she was so fierce on the Gunpowder Plot, the rising of 1642, and Jesuits in general, and he went on a little flustered); but then, Sir, as I was saying, though the thing has its uses ——.’

‘I’d like to know where society’d be without it,’ interposed Bligh, with a sneer.

‘Though it may have its uses, Sir; it’s not a thing one can sit down and say is right — we can’t!’

‘I’ve heard your sister, Miss Becky, speak strongly on that point, too,‘said Bligh.

‘Ah! I dare say,’ said the general, quite innocently, an coughing a little. This was a sore point with the hen-pecked warrior, and the grim scarcecrow by his side knew it, and grinned through his telescope; ‘and you see — I say — eh! I think they’re breaking up, a — and — I say — I— it seems all over — eh — and so, dear colonel, I must take my leave, and ——.’

And after a lingering look, he shut up his glass, and walking thoughtfully back with his friend, said suddenly —

‘And, now I think of it — it could not be that — Puddock, you know, would not suffer the priest to sit in the same coach with such a design — Puddock’s a good officer, eh! and knows his duty.’

A few hours afterwards, General Chattesworth, having just dismounted outside the Artillery barracks, to his surprise, met Puddock and O’Flaherty walking leisurely in the street of Chapelizod. O’Flaherty looked pale and shaky, and rather wild; and the general returned his salute, looking deuced hard at him, and wondering all the time in what part of his body (in his phrase) ‘he had got it;’ and how the plague the doctors had put him so soon on his legs again.

‘Ha, Lieutenant Puddock,’ with a smile, which Puddock thought significant —‘give you good-evening, Sir. Dr. Toole anywhere about, or have you seen Sturk?’

‘No, he had not.’

The general wanted to hear by accident, or in confidence, all about it; and having engaged Puddock in talk, that officer followed by his side.

‘I should be glad of the honour of your company, Lieutenant Puddock, to dinner this evening — Sturk comes, and Captain Cluffe, and this wonderful Mr. Dangerfield too, of whom we all heard so much at mess, at five o’clock, if the invitation’s not too late.’

The lieutenant acknowledged and accepted, with a blush and a very low bow, his commanding officer’s hospitality; in fact, there was a tendre in the direction of Belmont, and little Puddock had inscribed in his private book many charming stanzas of various lengths and structures, in which the name of ‘Gertrude’ was of frequent recurrence.

‘And — a — I say, Puddock — Lieutenant O’Flaherty, I thought — I— I thought, d’ye see, just now, eh? (he looked inquisitively, but there was no answer); I thought, I say, he looked devilish out of sorts, is he — a — ill?’

‘He was very ill, indeed, this afternoon, general; a sudden attack ——’

The general looked quickly at Pud............