Lord Middleton, when alone, involuntarily clasped his
hands. He then rose and locked the door, that no chance
intruder or servant might see the paleness of his face; for
he beheld death staring in his very path. With an effort,
however, not difficult for men who live much in and for the
world, he recovered his composure, unlocked the door,
ordered dinner in his room, and ate and drank as if nothing
had happened.

In the mean time Harry had heard the whole story,
heightened by the cool recollection of White, and the agitation
and anguish of the forever ruined and heart-broken
Glendenning. He had details not only of the causes of the
second meeting, but the particulars of the meeting itself.
Frank's calm bearing, his bright smile, his dying agonies,
and the broken words of forgiveness he had uttered, as his
young spirit took its fearful flight.

We have seen Harry, from his high-wrought temper, on
the eve of suicide, lashed into insanity by the frown of a
girl. The reader may imagine the extent of his present
emotion. He had no principle, moral or religious; no
doubt of the propriety of duelling; no scruples against
sending such a wretch as this headlong into eternity.
Neither had he the least fear for himself. The idea of his
own fall scarcely entered his thoughts. He wrote no letters,
made no preparations, desired no delay. His mind
was made up. He had a stern duty to perform. He had
found, at last, the murderer of his brother: a person who
had perpetrated the most diabolical crime that ever was
committed without the least shadow of excuse. That per

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son must die—die by his hand—die like a dog, and at once.
His soul was aroused to such a state of burning indignation
that he could scarcely wait the necessary formalities of one
of these fashionable combats. He brought forth his pistols;
he had them instantly put in order; he examined them with
care, with delight; he was going to inflict a just punishment
for a heinous crime; he was going to lay low in the
dust the vindictive, arrogant, remorseless villain who had
brought his brother to an early grave; who had broken his
mother's heart, and cast a shadow over the last days of his
father and his own. Oh, what might not Frank have become,
had his career not been cut short! His high-wrought,
sympathizing heart burned at the thoughts even of the pale,
blood-drenched, spiritless Glendenning, crushed, trampled
on, his hopes and good name, nay, his happiness and his
innocence, blasted forever by the reckless pride and power
of one malignant man; and this man, high in rank, and
opulence, and strength, thought himself above retribution.
He looked down on his victims and their avengers; and a
thought added fury to Harry's mind, that he himself, had he
appeared to him as a stranger, had he not been presented
to him by even no less a person than the Earl of Rivington,
he too would have been treated with that contempt with
which the haughty and inflated Middleton chose to regard
all mankind beneath him in rank.

“It is left for me, then,” thought Harry, as he paced his
room, “to teach this proud villain a lesson. Rest, my brother,
rest—rest, pale, bloody shade! I am here to avenge
thee, or to follow thee. Dear Frank, would you not have
done as much for me? Oh vengeance, keep steady my
heart, and fortune sit upon my arm, that I may cut short this
monster in his career of triumph and guilt.”

Thus, with half-heathen, half-theatrical thoughts, our
young philosopher awaited the result of his message. He
panted for the deadly conflict. He trembled lest, by some
chance, his victim might escape him.

White bore his message. He found Middleton in a dressing-gown
and slippers, smoking a cigar. “Well, sir,” said
the latter, “I suppose I need not ask to what I am indebted
for the honour of this visit?”

“Scarcely, my lord,” said White, smiling, as he presented
a note, whose bold, deep characters appeared traced by
a hand impatient for action.

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“I have already provided for this little contingency,” said
Middleton. “Colonel Rochelle, at the Hotel de Russie, is
kind enough to charge himself with the matter. Good-morning
to you.”

“My lord!” said White.

Middleton turned short round upon him with an expression
of countenance of which the interest, although veiled
under an air of quiet indifference, was not, could not be concealed.
His eye glistened with a wavering hope. His lip
(for he loved life with a sensualist's, with an infidel's love,
and he knew a meeting with Mr. Lennox was almost certain
death), his lip, although through a well-bred smile, trembled
perceptibly.

“I suppose that's all, White: we are now entirely in your
hands—m—my dear fellow.”

“Of course, my lord! but—”

There was a moment's pause, which Middleton broke
with an air of careless annoyance, as if the interest in question
were a mere trifle.

“White, you see my position. This hot-headed young
man is rushing on his fate. He is too good a shot to permit
of much magnanimity on my part. A fine, spirited
young fellow; I would give him his life if I could. I hate
to fire at him. I—I detest bloodshed.”

“Well, my lord,” said White, listening attentively.

“I speak for your friend. He has father, mother, sister—
and—”

“No, my lord, no brother,” interrupted White, so mildly
that it was impossible to say whether there were in his
mind any deeper meaning than that which met the ear.
Middleton paused, looked at him keenly, but then, as if after
having overcome an effort, proceeded.

“Before you go to Rochelle, I should make a remark to
you. In representing the part I took in that unhappy occurrence,
you have, of course, stated your implicit belief.
But, my dear White, let me refresh your recollection on one
point. I did not advise any second meeting; I did not
want it. I had heard the matter alluded to, and, as much
for the honour of Captain Glendenning as yours—and—and—
mine—I proposed a Court of Inquiry. You may remember,
I said to you I did not advise a meeting. I said so
expressly, in so many words. Did I not? I appeal to
you.”

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“You did, my lord.”

“Well, then!” continued Middleton, “don't you think it
your duty to state this to your friend; it may be the means
of saving him. For myself, of course I can ask nothing,
though I might with perfect propriety implore to be saved
from the cruel necessity of shedding innocent blood. You
see my position. I cannot—God knows I would if I could—
but I cannot spare this young fellow. He is too resolute,
too skilful. Yet with what heart shall I pursue the rest of
my life, with the blood of a noble, high-spirited, innocent
young man, who, au reste, has never injured me, upon my
hand and upon my conscience.”

“Upon your what, my lord?” asked White.

“Upon my conscience,” replied Middleton, the shade
suddenly returning to his yellow countenance: “I hope
you fully understand. I hope you do not misconstrue what
I say, Captain White.”

“My lord,” said White, with a sardonic smile, which revealed
all his hate and all his triumph, “it would afford me
the greatest pleasure to adopt your lordship's view of the
case, and I have listened to you with patience, in hopes of
hearing something which might change my opinion. I am
sorry to say your remarks rather cast a deeper shade over
the affair.”

“Good God, what have I said?”

“I deem it a high duty, my lord, and your lordship's noted
sense of duty cannot but sympathize with me, to advise my
friend, Mr. Lennox, to carry the affair through to the end.
Your lordship's well-remembered example has taught me
how to be firm, and to place a lofty sense of duty above all
personal feelings. You will pardon my suggesting that, as
to your dislike to budren your conscience (I think that was
the word your lordship used) with the blood of an innocent,
noble young man, you should have thought of that before
you meddled with the original affair. When I waited on
you in Montreal, one word, one look, one concession from
you would have saved my friend Glendenning from a nauseous
deed, which has blasted his life and broken his heart.
That word your lordship's high sense of duty did not permit
you to utter. I bent to you; I implored you; I all but
placed myself upon my knees before you; I threw myself
upon your generosity, your humanity. I told you I was authorized
by Glendenning to solicit from your mercy a

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reconsideration of your views. I need not say how this humiliation
was received. I need not recall to your lordship's
recollection the cutting sneers, the lofty insults, the immovable
disregard with which I, a supplicant beneath your
own roof, was coolly, remorselessly, insolently dismissed to
my task of death. I am not accustomed to beg, nor, to be
frank, inclined to forgive. The details of that hour are
written

`Where every day I turn the page to read them.' ”

“You are driving your friend into this matter then, sir,
from mere motives of revenge?” said Middleton.

“No, my lord, no. I would, if I were in the place of
Lennox, do as I advise him to do. I shall act towards
him as I would, under such circumstances, he might act to
me. You are, my lord, and you know it very well, the deliberate
murderer of his brother. You became so from motives
of personal malice. You hurled the bolt without caring
where it fell, nor what ruin it wrought, so long as you
struck the devoted head of a rash, high-tempered young
man, who had thoughtlessly offended you. The blood of
Frank Lennox rises up against you from the earth. You
have dashed to pieces the happiness of a most sweet and
affectionate family. You have put your foot upon the neck,
upon the heart of my friend. He is a wreck: only in the
grave can he ever taste repose. Towards me, my lord, you
have but manifested the indifference which I now feel towards
your lordship. You have asked a favour of me. I
refuse it. Should Lennox fall beneath your arm, you have
his blood as well as that of his brother to reflect upon;
should you fall, your lordship will, I trust, know how to
meet yourself the fate you have not hesitated to inflict on
others.”

“Captain White!” said Middleton, rising and ringing
the bell.

A servant came.

“Show Captain White to the door!”

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