When Middleton was once more alone, he pressed both
his hands upon his bosom, and paced backward and forward
in an uncontrollable agitation. The world does not see the
boasting duellist in his solitary chamber, when, running up
his account with Heaven, he gazes around him for the last
time on the familiar objects of life and nature. There was
a chance for his life, perhaps, but it was very remote, and
even that chance was only the alternative of killing his antagonist.
Bad as he was, steeped in worldliness, tainted
with selfish pride and ungodly thoughts, he recoiled from
imbruing his hands in more blood, and from the notoriety of
an affair which began to have the regular denouement of a
drama. But it was far far more probable that the indignant
arm of his terrible foe would leave him a corpse upon
the field. He was startled, appalled, overwhelmed. His
memory ran over his past years,

“Nor left one sunny resting-place;
Nor brought him back one branch of grace.”

Ah, life was sweet! His wealth, his rank, his splendid
house, his noble villa, his luxurious carriage, his expected
embassy, all the pomp, pride, and circumstance of the world
he had loved and alone lived far, floated before him like a
glorious vision—things seen in a vanished dream—never,
never to be met with again. Each shape of opulent pleasure
rose up and passed off like Macbeth's apparition of kings:

“Show his eyes and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.”

“By G—d! I'm a lost man!” broke from his quivering
lips, as he locked and doubly locked the door, till he could
recover from this fit of agitation.

For an hour he remained alone. It would be difficult to
describe his meditations.

At length his not very agreeable solitude was interrupted
by a knock at the door, and the servant announced “Colonel
Rochelle.”

“Well! hallo!” said the smiling second, without a care
upon his brow.

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“Ah! ha!” replied Middleton, greeting his friend with a
bland, clear smile. “You're a business man. How are
you again? Scarlet! wine!”

“All right!” said Rochelle, with a look of triumph, as the
servant closed the door. “To-morrow—daybreak—pistols—
ten paces—passports vise'd already—yours for England!”

“England? Good! A very necessary idea, that of the
passports. I'll be damned if I should have thought of it!”