NO QUARTER!

CHAPTER ONE.

A SWORD DUEL IN THE SADDLE.

"He who is not a Republican must either have a bad head or a bad heart."

The speaker was a man of military mien, cavalry arm, as could be told by
his seat in the saddle--for he was on horseback. Not in military
uniform, however, but dressed in a plain doublet of dark grey cloth,
with a broad Vandyke collar, high-crowned hat, buff boots reaching above
the knees, and turned over at the tips. Nor did his wearing a sword
certify to his being a soldier. In those days no one went without such
weapon, especially when on a journey, as he was. Thirty, or
thereabouts, he looked a little older through his complexion being
sun-browned, as from foreign service or travel; which had also left its
traces in his hair, a strand or two of silver beginning to show in a
_chevelure_ otherwise coal-black. His fine sweeping moustaches,
however, were still free from this betrayer of middle age; while his
well-balanced figure, lithe and tersely set, bespoke the activity of a
yet youthful manhood. His features, oval and regular, were of a type
denoting firmness; handsome, too, with their tint of bronze, which lent
interest to them, lit up as they were by the flashing of eagle eyes.
For flash these did excitedly, almost angrily, as he so declared
himself. By his speech he should be a Puritan, of extremest views; for
that he meant what he said was as evident from the emphasis given to his
words as from the expression on his face. Still, his hair showed not
the close crop of the "Roundhead;" instead, fell down in curling
luxuriance as affected by the "Cavalier;" while a plume of cock's
feathers set jauntily on the side of his hat gave him more the air of
the latter than the former, in contradiction to the sentiment expressed.

There could be no mistaking to which belonged the personage to whom he
addressed his speech. Of the Cavalier class sure, as the effect it
produced upon him would have told of itself. But the style of his
dress, air, bearing, everything proclaimed him one. A youth not yet
turned twenty, in garb of silken sheen; coat and trunks of rich yellow
satin, Cordovan leather boots, with a wide fringe of lace around the
tops; spurs gilt or of gold, and a beaver over which waved a _panache_
of ostrich feathers, upheld in a jewelled clasp. His sword belt of silk
velvet was elaborately embroidered, the needlework looking as though it
came from the fingers of a lady who had worked with a will and _con
amore_; the gauntlets of his white gloves ornamented in a similar
fashion by the same. Handsome he, too, but of manly beauty, quite
differing from that of the other, even to contrast. With a bright,
radiant complexion, and blonde hair falling in curls over his cheeks,
yet unbearded, his features were of the type termed aristocratic; such
as Endymion possessed, and Phidias would have been delighted to secure
for a model. Habitually and openly wearing a gentle expression, there
was, at the same time, one more latent, which bespoke intellectual
strength and courage of no common kind. Passionate anger, too, when
occasion called for it, seeming to say, "Don't put upon me too much, or
you'll find your mistake."

Just such a cast came over them as he listened to what the other said; a
declaration like defiance, flung in his teeth. Although meant as the
clincher of a political argument which had been for some time going on
between them, the young Cavalier, taken aback by its boldness, and
doubtful of having heard aright, turned sharply upon the other,
asking,--