"Where is Mr. John Stone?" she asked.

"Down at the kennels, miss," answered the boy.

She jumped into her saddle, put whip to her horse and flew over the ground between the mansion house and the kennels.

She pulled up before the door of the main building, sprang from her saddle, threw the bridle to a man in attendance, and rushed into the house and into the presence of Mr. John Stone, who was busy in prescribing for an indisposed pointer.

He looked up in astonishment, exclaiming:

"Hilloe! All the witches! Here's Cap! Why, where on earth did you shoot from? What's up now? You look as if you were in a state of spontaneous combustion and couldn't stand it another minute."

"And I can't--and I won't! John Stone, you must call that man out!"

"What man, Cap--what the deuce do you mean?"

"You know well enough--you do this to provoke me! I mean the man of whom you cautioned me this afternoon--the wretch who slandered me--the niece of your host!"

"Whe--ew!"

"Will you do it?"

"Where's Percy?"

"On the lounge with an ice in one hand and a novel in the other! I suppose it is no use mincing the matter, John--he is a--mere epicure--there is no fight in him! It is you who must vindicate your cousin's honor!"

"My cousin's honor cannot need vindication! It is unquestioned and unquestionable!"

"No smooth words, if you please, cousin John! Will you, or will you not fight that man?"

"Tut, Cap, no one really questions your honor--that man will get himself knocked into a c.o.c.ked hat if he goes around talking of an honest girl!"

"A likely thing, when her own cousins and guests take it so quietly."

"What would you have them do, Cap? The longer an affair of this sort is agitated, the more offensive it becomes! Besides, chivalry is out of date! The knights-errant are all dead."

"The men are all dead! If any ever really lived!" cried Cap, in a fury.

"Heaven knows I am inclined to believe them to have been a fabulous race like that of the mastodon or the centaur! I certainly never saw a creature that deserved the name of man! The very first of your race was the meanest fellow that ever was heard of--ate the stolen apple and when found out laid one half of the blame on his wife and the other on his Maker--'The woman whom thou gavest me' did so and so--pah! I don't wonder the Lord took a dislike to the race and sent a flood to sweep them all off the face of the earth! I will give you one more chance to retrieve your honor--in one word, now--will you fight that man?"

"My dear little cousin, I would do anything in reason to vindicate the a.s.sailed manhood of my whole s.e.x, but really, now----"

"Will you fight that man? One word--yes, or no?"

"Tut, Cap! you are a very reckless young woman! You--it's your nature--you are an incorrigible madcap! You bewitch a poor wretch until he doesn't know his head from his heels--puts his feet into his hat and covers his scalp with his boots! You are a will-o'-the-wisp who lures a poor fellow on through woods, bogs and briars, until you land him in the quicksands! You whirl him around and around until he grows dizzy and delirious, and talks at random, and then you'd have him called out, you blood-thirsty little vixen! I tell you, Cousin Cap, if I were to take up all the quarrels your hoydenism might lead me into, I should have nothing else to do!"

"Then you won't fight!"

"Can't, little cousin! I have a wife and family, which are powerful checks upon a man's duelling impulses!"

"Silence! You are no cousin of mine--no drop of your sluggish blood stagnates in my veins--no spark of the liquid fire of my life's current burns in your torpid arteries, else at this insult would it set you in a flame! Never dare to call me cousin again." And so saying, she flung herself out of the building and into her saddle, put whip to her horse and galloped away home.

Now, Mr. Stone had privately resolved to thrash Craven Le Noir; but he did not deem it expedient to take Cap into his confidence. As Capitola reached the horse-block, her own groom came to take the bridle.

"Jem," she said, as she jumped from her saddle, "put Gyp up and then come to my room, I have a message to send by you."

And then, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes, she went to her own sanctum, and after taking off her habit, did the most astounding thing that ever a woman of the nineteenth or any former century attempted--she wrote a challenge to Craven Le Noir--charging him with falsehood in having maligned her honor--demanding from him "the satisfaction of a gentleman," and requesting him as the challenged party to name the time, place and weapons with which he would meet her.

By the time she had written, sealed and directed this war-like defiance, her young groom made his appearance.

"Jem," she asked, "do you know the way to the Hidden House?"

"Yes, miss, sure."

"Then take this note thither, ask for Mr. Le Noir, put it into his hands, and say that you are directed to wait an answer. And listen! You need not mention to any one in this house where you are going--nor when you return, where you have been; but bring the answer you may get directly to this room, where you will find me."

"Yes, miss," said the boy, who was off like a flying Mercury.

Capitola threw herself into her chair to spend the slow hours until the boy's return as well as her fierce impatience and forced inaction would permit.

At tea time she was summoned; but excused herself from going below upon the plea of indisposition.

"Which is perfectly true," she said to herself, "since I am utterly indisposed to go. And besides, I have sworn never again to sit at the same table with my cousins, until for the wrongs done me I have received ample satisfaction."

CHAPTER XVII.

CAPITOLA CAPS THE CLIMAX.

Oh! when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd; She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she is but little she is fierce.

--Shakespeare.

It was quite late in the evening when Jem, her messenger, returned.

"Have you an answer?" she impetuously demanded, rising to meet him as he entered.

"Yes, miss, here it is," replied the boy, handing a neatly folded, highly perfumed little note.

"Go," said Cap, curtly, as she received it.

And when the boy had bowed and withdrawn, she threw herself into a chair, and with little respect for the pretty device of the pierced heart with which the note was sealed, she tore it open and devoured its contents.

Why did Capitola's cheeks and lips blanch white as death? Why did her eyes contract and glitter like stilettoes? Why was her breath drawn hard and laboriously through clenched teeth and livid lips?

That note was couched in the most insulting terms.

Capitola's first impulse was to rend the paper to atoms and grind those atoms to powder beneath her heel. But a second inspiration changed her purpose.