CHAPTER X.THE STIFLED QUARREL.
It was noon of the next day before Colonel Grant came to the house at Monsanto from whose balcony floated the British flag, and before whose portals stood a sentry in the tall bearskin of the grenadiers.
He found the adjutant alone in his room, and apologised for the delay in responding to his invitation, pleading the urgency of other matters that he had in hand.
"A wise enactment this of Lord Wellington's," was his next comment.

"I mean this prohibition of duelling.

It may be resented by some of our young bloods as an unwarrantable interference with their privileges, but it will do a deal of good, and no one can deny that there is ample cause for the measure." "It is on the subject of the cause that I'm wanting to consult you," said Sir Terence, offering his visitor a chair.

"Have you been informed of the details?
No?
Let me give you them." And he related how the dispatch bore signs of having been tampered with, and how the only document of any real importance came to be missing from it.
Colonel Grant, sitting with his sabre across his knees, listened gravely and thoughtfully.

In the end he shrugged his shoulders, the keen hawk face unmoved.
"The harm is done, and cannot very well be repaired.