"But listen to me, Malcolm," responded Sir George. "Your modesty, which,
in truth, I did not know you possessed, is pleasing to me; but I have
reasons of my own for wishing that you should marry Dorothy. I want my
estates to remain in the Vernon name, and one day you or your children
will make my house and my name noble. You and Dorothy shall go to court,
and between you--damme! if you can't win a dukedom, I am no prophet. You
would not object to change your faith, would you?"

"Oh, no," I responded, "of course I should not object to that."

"Of course not. I knew you were no fool," said Sir George. "Age! why, you
are only thirty-five years old--little more than a matured boy. I prefer
you to any man in England for Dorothy's husband."

"You overwhelm me with your kindness," I returned, feeling that I was
being stranded on a very dangerous shore, amidst wealth and beauty.

"Tut, tut, there's no kindness in it," returned my cousin. "I do not offer
you Dorothy's hand from an unselfish motive. I have told you one motive,
but there is another, and a little condition besides, Malcolm." The brandy
Sir George had been drinking had sent the devil to his brain.

"What is the condition?" I asked, overjoyed to hear that there was one.

The old man leaned toward me and a fierce blackness overclouded his face.
"I am told, Malcolm, that you have few equals in swordsmanship, and that
the duello is not new to you. Is it true?"

"I believe I may say it is true," I answered. "I have fought successfully