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"There has not been: until this occurred, I fondly believed her to be pure. She had my entire confidence: no man could have reposed more confidence in a woman, than I reposed in her; and even now that she has betrayed it—"

"She has not betrayed it! I'll not have it so."

"I'd give up station, wealth, and all, to have it proved that she has not."

"To have it proved that she has not! How can it be proved? What woman can prove that she has not been false? You well know that to be impossible. It is for you to prove that she has been—and what proof have you of that?"

At this moment Sir William D'Almaine was announced, and the general—who, inferring that the preliminaries had been settled, was anxious to receive the communication from Mr. Scholefield—rose on the instant, and having briefly said, "Sir Charles, I shall see you again on this subject," left the room.

It was about four, when Sylvester received the intelligence that the meeting was to take place that evening at seven, and the firmness with which he received it, proved clearly that cowardice formed no part of his composition. He was thoughtful, it is true, but tranquil. There was no display of any reckless devil-may-care spirit: he viewed the affair like a man who perceives the importance of the part he is about to perform, and although he was willing to converse calmly on the subject, he was indisposed to treat it with levity.

"I say, old fellow," observed Tom, gaily, soon after they had sat down to dinner, "where's your appetite?"

"I have it still," replied Sylvester.

"Well, cobe!—get od! Do bad should go idto the field with ad appetite."

"I am doing very well!"

"I hope you'll do better whed supper-tibe cobes."

"I hope so, too."

"But, I say, old boy; I wish you'd take be with you."

"That I apprehend would be rather incorrect."

"Dot at all! I bight go as your surgeod!"

"I hope that no surgeon will be required."

"Well, I hope so, too! But if I were to go, I dod't thidk that the practice I should have would buch ibprove be! As to Sir Charles hittidg you!—that's quite out of the questiod. If he cad, why thed he cad hit a lath: day, I'd back ady mad who cad hit you at twelve paces, to go through the eye of a deedle. It's dot to be dode! The idea is ridiculous. Add thed as regards your hittidg hib!"

"I shall not attempt it."

"You'll dot! What, do you bead to say thed, that you'll fire id the air?"

"It is my intention to do so."

"Thed of course you wish to kill hib!"

"Certainly not."

"Thed dod't attebpt to fire id the air. You are buch bore likely to hit bib if you do so, thad if you were to fire directly at his head."