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"I know nothing about the arrangements."

"Well, but dod't you kdow where you are to beet?"

"I've not the slightest idea. Mr. Scholefield has, on my part, the entire arrangement of the affair: beyond that I know nothing."

The doctor and Mr. Scholefield then returned to the library, and when Tom—who entertained the kindliest feelings towards Sylvester, and who had made up his mind to embrace the earliest opportunity of giving information—had been taken aside, the doctor communicated something which induced him to abandon the course he had meant to pursue.

"You will dine with me to-day?" observed the doctor, addressing Sylvester.

"I had much rather not. I'd rather dine alone. I do not feel that I am a coward; but I am of course thoughtful. I have, moreover, a letter or two to write."

"Write theb here, add dide with be thed," said Tom.

"Dine where you please," interposed Mr. Scholefield; "only let me know where I can find you."

"I will remain here then. You will find me here. I'll not leave the house till you return."

"Very well," said Mr. Scholefield. "Then that's understood:" and, on leaving the house with the doctor, he proceeded to keep his engagement with Sir William D'Almaine.

"I don't think," observed Sylvester, on being left with Tom, "that society has any right to place a man in this position. It appears to me to be dreadful, that the life of one man should be thus coolly staked against that of another. Life against life! and with it all earthly hopes, prospects, and affections! Henceforth, be the result of this affair what may, I'll never either give or accept a challenge. Were I guilty of the offence with which I am charged, I should not, of course, have the slightest reason to complain—although that would be, in effect, placing the accuser on the same footing as the accused: subjecting the man who has been injured to the same consequences as the man by whom the injury has been inflicted—but, as I am innocent, I do think it monstrous that society should force me to peril my life for the satisfaction of him by whom I have been falsely accused."

"Society does dot absolutely force you," said Tom.

"Its influence has precisely that effect. Were I not to go out, it would denounce me as a coward."

"Still it leaves you free to choose the alterdative."

"And a pretty alternative it is!"

"The paid idflicted by society's cedsure—add bore especially the cedsure of that portiod of society who take ibbediate cogdisadce of battles of this descriptiod—depedds, id a great degree, upod a mad's susceptibility. Sobe there are who despise it; add I dod't kdow but such bed display as buch courage as they do by whob it is feared."

"But a man in society—unless, indeed, he be independent of society—must go with society's stream. If he attempt to stem the tide thus established, he may struggle and struggle, and, with all his struggling,