A thrill passed over Mr Winkle as the conviction that he had nothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined to become an animated target, rushed forcibly upon him.

The state of the case was formally explained to Mr Snodgrass. A case of satisfactory pistols, with the satisfactory accompaniments of powder, ball, and caps, was hired from a manufacturer in Rochester.

Thereafter the two friends returned to their inn; Mr Winkle to ruminate on the approaching struggle, and Mr Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of war, and put them into proper order for immediate use.

It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on their awkward errand. Mr Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escape observation, and Mr Snodgrass bore under his the instruments of destruction.

'Have you got everything?' said Mr Winkle, in an agitated tone.

'Everything,' replied Mr Snodgrass; 'plenty of ammunition, in case the shots don't take effect. There's a quarter of a pound of powder in the case, and I have got two newspapers in my pocket for the loadings.'