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" did you think of that man?" said Lord Polemore to Victor Vane that evening over his coffee in the drawing-rooms, out of the Duke's hearing.

Think of him? think of him? Well!—I think he will die a violent death."

"Good gracious!" said the peer, with a little shiver. "Why?"

"I never analyse!" laughed Victor, softy. "I think so,—because I think so. He will get shot in a duel, perhaps, for saying some barbaric truth or other in the teeth of policy."

"Who is that you are prophesying for with such charmingly horrible romance?" asked a very pretty woman.

"Fellow we met on the moor," answered Polemore. "Queer fellow! Beggar, you know—holes