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Sybrandt had proceeded directly from Mr. Aubineau's
to the quarters of Colonel Gilfillan, with a design
of explaining to him his claims on Catalina, and
demanding a relinquishment of his attentions. He
was told the colonel had stepped out for a few minutes,
and requested to wait his return. During the interval
he happened to take up a music-book which lay on
the table. It opened of itself, and a miniature picture
fell from it on the floor. Sybrandt took it up with
the intention of replacing it, when to his dismay and
horror he discovered in it the likeness of Catalina,
which Gilfillan, with an inexcusable want of delicacy
and propriety, had procured to be copied from
the original while in his possession. The blood of
Sybrandt rushed to his heart, and thence to his face
and fingers' ends, where it tingled and burnt like liquid
fire. He stood trembling with rage and anguish,
the picture in his hand, when Gilfillan entered and
was beginning in his gayest tones, with—

“My dear Mr. Westbrook, by my soul you're
welcome”—when Sybrandt interrupted him without
ceremony—“Colonel Gilfillan, when I inform you
I have a deep interest in the question, I hope you
will answer it frankly—May I ask where you procured
this picture?”

Gilfillan felt himself in the predicament of one

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who has been detected in doing what he cannot
justify; he therefore sheltered himself under an air
of haughty indifference: added to this, our hero's
snuff-coloured suit did him another ill turn here. It
impressed upon the mind of Gilfillan that he had to
do with a clodhopper of the first magnitude, whom
he might banter, or bully, or quiz at pleasure. Never
man was more mistaken than Colonel Gilfillan. He
little suspected this homely suit covered a man that
would not turn out of the path he had chosen for any
thing in the shape of man. He accordingly replied,
with a careless if not contemptuous hauteur,—

“Certainly, Mister—a—a—Mister Westbrook,
you are at perfect liberty to ask any question of
me—but allow me to observe, it depends upon myself
whether I choose to answer.”

“But, sir, you will permit me to say you must do
me the favour to answer this question.”

“Must! you don't say so, sir?”

“Look ye, Colonel Gilfillan, this is no time for trifling;
nor will I permit you to trifle on this occasion.
Is it known to you that an engagement subsists
between the original of that picture and myself,
sanctioned by her parents?”

“By my soul, Mr. Westbrook, it is a matter of
perfect indifference whether there does or not. If a
lady makes an engagement I suppose she has a right
to break an engagement when she is tired of it; and,
by the glory of the stars! I am the man that will
assist her any time in such a praiseworthy undertaking.”

“Very well then, I am to presume you were acquainted
with the circumstance?”

“You may presume what you please, Mr. Westbrook—
it's all one to me.”

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“You will not gratify my inquiries, then, though I
have, I trust, justified the interest I have a right to
take in the affairs of this young lady?”

“Faith will not I,” replied the colonel, carelessly.

“Then let me tell you, sir—” Sybrandt's voice
rung, his colour heightened, and his eye flashed.

“Hold there, young gentleman,” interrupted the
colonel. “From the tone of your voice, and the
flash of your eye, I gather you are going to say
something disagreeable; take care what you do say.”

“I say to your caution what you were pleased to
say to my information—that it is a matter of perfect
indifference to me. And I further say, Colonel Gilfillan,
that I neither recognise in your preceding or
your present conduct any thing that entitles you to
particular respect.”

“Before you go any further, my friend, let me ask
you a civil question,—will you fight?—For it must
come to that if you say the thousandth part of such
another word.”

Sybrandt went to the table, and in an instant presented
a paper to the colonel, on which were the following
words:

“Meet me at six to-morrow morning, at Hoboken,
and I'll answer your question.”

The colonel was somewhat startled at this prompt
dealing in a man in a snuff-coloured suit. He was
not frightened—nothing on earth could frighten him,
except a dun,—but he was seized with an involuntary
respect for the snuff-coloured gentleman, that made
him almost regret having treated him so cavalierly.
He changed his tone instantly. He kept his eye
on the paper as he continued asking questions.

“At six to-morrow?”

“At six”

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“With pistols did you say?”

“With pistols, if you please, or—”

“O, it's all the same to me. Mr. Westbrook, let
me ask you one question—do you mean to make
your will beforehand? because, if you do, I wish
you'd leave me that picture after your death, as you
don't seem inclined to give it me while alive.”

Sybrandt had all this while held the picture in his
clenched hand, almost unconsciously. But on being
thus reminded of it, he threw it contemptuously on
the table.

“Now that is treating the original discourteously,”
said the colonel, taking it up; “and upon my soul,
if you had not been beforehand with me I should
have picked a quarrel with you for it. Faith, a
charming lady, and I'll wear her image next my heart
to-morrow.”

So saying, he coolly deposited the picture in his
bosom, and Sybrandt inwardly vowed to himself
that he would aim right at the faithless resemblance.

“We understand each other now, Colonel Gilfillan?”

“O faith, there can be no misunderstanding in
such plain English.”

“Good morning then, colonel.”

“Good morning, Mr. Westbrook,” answered the
colonel. “Now, who the d—l would have taken
that snuff-coloured breeches for a lad of such mettle?
I am determined to be friends with him the
very next minute after I've blown his brains out.”

The colonel was here suddenly interrupted by a
message from his excellency requiring his immediate
attendance. He accordingly hurried off to the
government-house, while Sybrandt slowly turned towards
the mansion of Mr. Aubineau, where Catalina

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was anxiously waiting to put her good resolutions
in practice. A storm of contending passions agitated
his mind, and when he came in sight of the
house he turned away heart-sick with his wounded
feelings, and wandered for hours in the fields that
skirted the city. Sometimes he determined to depart
without seeing Catalina, and at others to see her
once more, reproach her with having trifled with his
happiness, and then bid farewell for ever.

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