Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 27

Sylvester, on leaving the house of Sir Charles with mingled feelings of indignation and alarm, proceeded at once to the residence of Mr. Scholefield, with the view of awaiting his return. He knew not of course what would be the result; but having deputed Mr. Scholefield to act as his friend, and feeling prohibited from taking any step without his direct sanction, he summoned all the patience at his command, and took a seat in the surgery alone.

While he was here, tortured with anxiety and brooding over the probable consequences of that which he felt of course conscious of being a mistake, Mr. Scholefield, whose apprehensions were even stronger than those of Sylvester, being determined if possible to ascertain the whole truth, and having learned that Lady Julian was at the house of her father, went, in order to have an interview with her, unknown to Sir Charles and D'Almaine.

On his arrival, he found her father in a dreadful state of excitement and somewhat uncourteous, conceiving, as he did, that a message had come from Sir Charles.

"What is your object?" he demanded, when Mr. Scholefield had inquired if he could see Lady Julian. "Why do you wish to see her? What have you to communicate? By whom were you commissioned to come? My daughter is innocent! Sir Charles shall know to his cost that she is innocent! I'd stake my life upon her word! If, therefore, you are charged with any insulting or humiliating message, she is not to be seen. I'll not have her insulted: I'll not have her humiliated. She is as virtuous now that she has returned to her father's house, as she was when she left it. Sir Charles, by whom I presume you have been sent—"

"General Lloyd," calmly interrupted Mr. Scholefield, "I have not been sent by Sir Charles."

"Do you come then in the character of a mediator?"

"No. My object is to have an assurance from Lady Julian that Mr. Sound was not the gentleman whom Sir Charles saw."

"Then you assume that she must have been visited by some one?"

"I merely assume that Sir Charles must have seen some one."

"Assuming that, does it follow that she knows whom he saw?"

"Not necessarily; but—"

"Sir, she knows nothing whatever about it: nor do I believe that he saw any one at all. It is a trick, sir!—a conspiracy!—an infamous conspiracy! But I'll sift the matter: I'll get to the bottom of it. He shall not with impunity blast the reputation of my daughter."

"General Lloyd, I came here with no other view than that of ascer​taining if this young man—whom I regard as a son, and upon whose honour I have always placed the most perfect reliance—has been seen by Lady Julian since he left me. I am aware of its being an extremely delicate question, under the circumstances, to put to Lady Julian—"

"Not at all—not at all! If she has not, she will say so: if she has, she will declare it."

"That is my only object in seeking an interview with her."

"Very well."

"I feel that you will appreciate my anxiety, when I explain to you that this young man's very existence is at stake."

"Has Sir Charles called him out, then?"

"He has."

"And does he intend to go?"

"I see no alternative."

"The meeting must not take place. If Sir Charles should happen to fall, the reputation of my daughter will be for ever lost! It must by some means be prevented."

"I am most anxious to prevent it; but how can it be done?"

"Who is his friend?"

"Sir William D'Almaine."

"But the friend of the accused?"

"He has referred them to me."

"Good. You are anxious to prevent it. You pledge me your honour that you wish to prevent it?"

"I do."

"Very good. Then it shall be done. Continue to act. I'll take care that you are not compromised. Continue to act. Under no other circumstances would I interfere, but in this case I feel bound to do so. And now come and speak to my daughter."

The general then led the way into the drawing-room, and on finding Lady Julian in tears, he exclaimed, "Are you my daughter, Louise, or are you not? Are you innocent, or are you not? If you are, act like the daughter of a soldier, and let us have no more tears."

Lady Julian seized the hand of Mr. Scholefield, and sobbed bitterly.

"Louise!" shouted the general, "is this the way to repel the attacks of an enemy?"

"Mr. Scholefield is no enemy, father," she replied.

"I didn't say that he was. If he had been, I shouldn't have brought him up here. But be firm. Be a woman. Don't act like a child. Mr. Scholefield wants to know whether you have or have not seen that young fellow since—since when?"

"Since he left me," said Mr. Scholefield. "You remember when he left me?"

"I do, perfectly," replied Lady Julian; "I have not seen him since."

"Neither last night nor at any other time?"

"Neither last night nor at any other time since he came with Mr. Scholefield."

"Very well," replied the general; "that point's settled. Is there any other question you wish to have answered?"

​"My object," replied Mr. Scholefield, "was merely to ascertain that fact. Of course," he added, turning to Lady Julian, "you have no idea whom Sir Charles could have seen?"

"I have not, indeed."

"How should you have?" interposed the general. "You were in bed, were you not?"

"Yes; and had been asleep, but awoke just before Sir Charles returned. But what does he say, Mr. Scholefield? You have seen him, of course?"

"I have but just left him."

"Is he still labouring under this cruel delusion?"

"He appears to be very much excited."

"Of course!" cried the general. "He appears to be excited! That's an indispensable part of the plan!"

"You wrong him, father: be assured that you wrong him. This is no plan of his. I feel that he is incapable of any such meanness."

"Of course you do. I'm aware of that. And were he to crush you, you'd feel so still. You were a fool to marry him; and I was a fool to consent to the match. We're a couple of fools, and as fools he wishes to treat us. However, we shall see: we shall see about that: we shall see! We are not to be struck down so easily as he imagines. Mr. Scholefield: a word or two with you, alone."

"You will call and see us?" exclaimed Lady Julian, seizing the hand of Mr. Scholefield, as he rose. "You will not believe that I'm so guilty a creature. I am innocent: indeed, indeed, I am innocent."

"There, there!" cried the general; "that will do: that will do. Don't be a fool!" he added, kissing her affectionately, as the tears sprang to his eyes. "There: now be calm—quite calm: let us have no more of this."

Lady Julian, as they left the room, sank upon the couch, and when her maid had been summoned, they returned to the parlour.

"I was told how it would be," said the general; "I was warned long ago."

"Warned of what?"

"Of jealousy being the fruit of the match. If I had fifty daughters, and they were all as ugly as the devil, I'd never again consent to the marriage of any one of them with any man twenty years older than herself. Still I thought that Julian was really a man of honour."

"And I think that he is so still. That he has hitherto loved Lady Julian fondly, I have had opportunities of knowing."

"Well!" exclaimed the general; "we shall see! I'll go to him as soon as I feel fit to go. I'm only waiting until I get cool. It's of no use going to a man in a rage. But now, as regards this challenge. Will you promise to communicate to me the time and place of meeting?"

"I will."

"That is all I require. This you promise, upon your honour as a gentleman?"

"I do."

​"Very good. That's settled. Let the affair go on. I shall hear from you in the course of the day?"

"You shall."

"No one shall ever know from me how I obtained the information, nor from whom."

"I depend, of course, upon your secresy."

"You may do so with confidence. Until this matter has been satisfactorily cleared up, I would not have Julian fall for the world. Fix any time you like, but let me know."

"That there may be no mistake, I will see you myself."

"That's better! Now, mind, I depend upon you."

"And I depend upon you: for I would not, on any account, have that young man injured."

Mr. Scholefield then left, and as he felt that the contemplated meeting would be harmless, his mind was more at ease, although he was still apprehensive that the consequences to Sylvester would be, in a professional point of view, ruinous. Hoping, however, that these consequences might yet be averted, he hastened home, but before he arrived, Sylvester—whose anxiety had so much increased, that he found it impossible to remain there alone—had left, with the view of calling upon Tom, having previously written a note to Mr. Scholefield, stating where he was to be found.

At this period, Tom was in practice for himself; and that practice, moreover, was extensive: for, notwithstanding he had the same peculiarity of pronunciation as before, he had a high reputation for skill—a reputation which he had, by the legitimate exercise of his talents, acquired, and which experience and constant study enabled him to sustain.

"What's the batter?" he exclaimed, as Sylvester entered his library; "why are you thus excited? Has adythidg very bobedtous occurred?"

"Yes," replied Sylvester; "I have been drawn into a mess."

"A bess! Well, well, sit dowd add be calb; add let's see if we cad't draw you out of it. Dow thed, what is it's dature?"

"You know Sir Charles Julian?"

"Yes."

"He declares that he saw me leave his house about three o'clock this morning."

"Well."

"And his butler declares—and is, moreover, prepared to swear—that he saw me at that hour absolutely coming from Lady Julian's chamber!"

"I say, old fellow," said Tom, shaking his head, significantly; "a bedical bad, too!—a bedical bad!"

"But it was not me whom they saw!"

"It was dot?"

"No: upon my honour!"

"That's a blessidg. Where were you at that tibe?"

"In bed."

"Cad you prove that you were?"

​"I can prove that I went home at twelve."

"That's sobethidg, certaidly; but that's dot edough."

"It's impossible for me to prove that I was in bed at three!"

"Which is awkward: very awkward. Well," he added, after a pause, "what has beed dode?"

"In the first place he has cast Lady Julian off, and in the next he has sent me a challenge."

"Well! That's doidg busidess! Do you bead to go out?"

"I have left the affair entirely in the hands of Mr. Scholefield."

"Very good; and what does he bead to do?"

"I've not seen him since I left him with Sir Charles."

"Do you bead to say that you have beed to speak to Sir Charles?"

"I went in order to convince him that I was not the man; but the moment he saw me, he seized me by the throat and tried to strangle me."

"He did! Well, id that case, Syl, out you bust go! I dod't buch adbire this bode of settlidg batters; but as it is the odly bode prescribed by society, society bust establish adother before it cad expect that which is dow id existedce to be repudiated. But whed are you goidg to see Scholefield agaid?"

"I expected to see him an hour ago! I waited at his house till I was tired of waiting, and then left a note stating that I should be here."

"Well, old boy, you bust keep up your spirits! Let's have a glass of wide od the stredgth of it."

"There he is!" exclaimed Sylvester, on hearing a knock.

"That's the goverdor," said Tom. That's his kdock for a thousadd. Dow the questiod is, will it be wise to explaid all to hib?"

"Why will it not?" demanded Sylvester.

"Why, he has a thorough hatred of the practice of duellidg: he holds it id utter abhorredce; add were it to cobe to his kdowledge that you had beed called out, I do believe that he would idduce you to suffer ady iddigdity rather thad go. The questiod therefore is, shall we tell hib or dot?"

Before Sylvester had time to answer this question, the appearance of the doctor, with Mr. Scholefield, sufficiently proved it to be unnecessary, for he at once took Sylvester by the hand, and enjoined him to be tranquil and firm. "I am," he added, "strongly opposed to this practice; but, under existing circumstances, the challenge must be accepted. We are all friends here; but, of course, not a syllable must be said on the subject to any other party. I shall see you again in a few minutes. Do not leave till I return."

"Well," said Tom, as the doctor left the room with Mr. Scholefield; "if ady bad had sword that the goverdor would, udder ady circubstadces, sadctiod the acceptadce of a challedge, I should have said that that bad had cobbitted perjury. Why, he has heretofore dedoudced the practice of duellidg vehebedtly, as a barbarous, brutal, cowardly, cold-blooded practice. I have heard hib agaid add agaid codtedd that every bad who happeded to kill adother id a duel, whether he idtedded to do so or dot, was a burderer! I'll dever applaud hib for codsistedcy agaid. But I say, old fellow, whed does the thidg cobe off?"

​"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, ​be scarcely able to keep up to the point from which he started; while he who contentedly goes with the tide, glides smoothly along without an effort."

"That's true, Syl, as far as it goes; certaidly they who go with the tide fide it the easiest way to get alodg, but it is extrebely questiodable whether it be at all tibes the wisest. Prejudices are to be reboved, for exabple, odly by oppositiod; frob oppositiod the whole of our great add glorious schebes, both political add social, have sprudg: oppositiod is the gerb of ibprovebedt: we bust have beed id a state of igdoradce the bost profoudd had there beed doe such thidg as oppositiod. It is easier, doubtless, to go with the tide thad to oppose it; but our object should be to divert the streab whed we fide that its course is perdicious."

"But I am not in a position to turn the stream now against me."

"Doe bad alive probably could do so alode. He bust, to be successful, have the idfluedce add the exabple of a dubber to back hib."

"Do you wish me, in this case, to be one of that number?"

"Why, suppose that you were dow to leave towd—"

"Had I fifty lives, and had to peril them all, I wouldn't do it."

"It was dot by idtedtiod to advise you to do it: I berely said suppose you were dow to leave towd, what—"

"Nothing could justify such a step now. Independently of compromising one of my best friends, I should be for ever branded as a coward. No! be the result what it may, I'll go through it."

"Well," said Tom, whose sole object in discussing this subject was to prove that Sylvester in reality possessed that firmness for which he had previously given him credit, "if that be your fixed deterbidatiod, we'll say doe bore about it. I'll dow, for a short tibe, leave you. You have letters to write, add I've a call or two to bake: I shall dot be gode bore thad ad hour."

"Tom," said Sylvester, taking him by the hand, "I have one request to make; it is this: that before you go out, you will pledge me your honour that you will give information of this affair to no one. I ought not, I know, to have named the subject even to you; but, remember, I have done so in the most perfect confidence."

Tom pressed his hand warmly and smiled, and having given the required pledge, left him.

Sylvester then sat down calmly to write an affectionate letter to Aunt Eleanor, to be delivered to her only in the event of his falling; and while he was thus engaged, Mr. Scholefield and Sir William were settling the preliminaries of the meeting.

The general was also at this time engaged. He had, with the view of getting "cool," been running up and down stairs, pacing the rooms with extraordinary rapidity, and hurling fierce denunciations at the head of him whom he imagined had conspired to blast the reputation of his daughter; and when by these vehement means he had become, in his judgment, sufficiently "cool," he started off to have an interview with Sir Charles, in a state of intense perspiration.

On his arrival, Sir Charles was "not at home." He had given instructions to be denied to all save Sir William D'Almaine. But when ​the porter told the general that Sir Charles was not at home, the general looked at the fellow, and asked him if he knew who he was. "Attention!" he shouted, as the porter muttered something in reply to him—"Announce me!" And the porter, who in this his extremity scarcely knew how to act, did announce him, and the general was eventually shown up.

As he entered the room in which Sir Charles, who was still much excited, had been anxiously awaiting Sir William's return, the general walked stiffly up to the table, and, on taking a chair, sat immediately opposite Sir Charles, and looked at him for a moment with an expression of severity.

"Sir Charles—Sir Charles Julian!" said he, at length, "I am here—calm and cool, as you perceive—to demand an explanation."

"General," returned Sir Charles, more in sorrow than in anger, "I have nothing to explain—nothing more than that which, I presume, you already know. That your daughter has dishonoured me, is lamentable, but true."

"It is false, sir—atrociously false!"

"Could I reasonably entertain a doubt upon the subject, I would abandon every feeling of suspicion at once; but as her paramour was actually seen coming from her chamber; as my man let him out; and as I myself saw him leave the house as I approached it, doubt is impossible."

"I don't believe a word of it—not a single word!"

"Of what?"

"Of what! Why, of the statement you have made with the view of justifying your abandonment of my daughter."

Sir Charles rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, he ordered Thompson up immediately.

"I'll prove it," said he. "Unhappily, I can prove it. Thompson is my witness: interrogate him yourself."

"Oh!" retorted the general, sarcastically, "I have not the slightest doubt of his having duly learned his lesson."

"What do you mean to insinuate by that?"

"We shall see—we shall see," returned the general, as the butler entered. "Now, sir," he continued, addressing Thompson fiercely, "I have to ask you a few plain questions—questions which, doubtless, you will have to answer upon your oath."

"I will answer them now," said the butler, "as truly as if I were on my oath."

"We shall see: we shall see, sir. Now, then. The very first question I have to ask you is this: did Sir Charles, or did he not, sir, instruct you to make the statement which you have made against Lady Julian?"

"I have made no statement against Lady Julian."

"No equivocation—no quibbling! I ask you a straightforward question, sir, and I expect that you will give me a straightforward answer. I ask you again, whether Sir Charles did or did not instruct you to make the statement which you have made against Lady Julian?"

​"And I answer again, that I have made no statement against her ladyship."

"What! Have you not declared, and are you not prepared to swear, that she is an adulteress?"

"No," replied Thompson, "certainly not. I don't believe that she is: I never said that I believed it."

"Why, how is this?" demanded the general of Sir Charles. "What am I to understand?"

"Pursue your own course, General Lloyd," returned Sir Charles. "Pray proceed in your own way. I've no wish to interfere with your mode of interrogation."

"All I have stated," resumed Thompson, "is this: that about three this morning, I saw Mr. Sound coming slowly from the ante-room which leads to Lady Julian's chamber, and that I let him out of the house."

"And are you prepared to swear to this statement?"

"I am, sir: I am."

"And will you also swear that you received no orders—no instructions from Sir Charles—"

"General Lloyd!" vehemently interposed Sir Charles, "I'll no longer sit here to be thus insulted. Thompson, leave the room. If," he added, when Thompson had left, "if you have any charge to bring against me, let it be brought at once plainly, that I may meet it. You have insinuated against me one of the basest and most abhorrent practices by which it is possible for a man to be disgraced. Do you mean to accuse me distinctly of such baseness?"

"I mean to accuse you of this, Sir Charles Julian—I am not a man to mince my words, or to shrink from the avowal of that which I feel—this it is of which I accuse you: I accuse you of having heartlessly conspired with that despicable wretch—whose oath I perceive is entirely at your command—to crush a woman, a fond, devoted fool of a woman, whom you know to be as virtuous and as pure as a child."

"General Lloyd!" cried Sir Charles; "General Lloyd! you amaze me! Were any other man upon earth to charge me with anything so infamous, I should at once denounce him as a villain! What right have you to insult me with so monstrous an accusation? What grounds have you—what real grounds—for believing me capable of acting so shameful a part?"

"Sir Charles Julian, you amaze me! Were any other man upon earth to charge her with anything so infamous, I should at once denounce him as a villain! What right have you to insult her with so monstrous an accusation? What grounds have you—what real grounds for believing her capable of acting so shameful a part?"

"I have evidence!"

"You have: and I have evidence, too: evidence of a much purer caste. I have her evidence—upon which I'd stake my life—I have the evidence of him who is charged with her; I have my own evidence, and I have yours—for I defy you to show that, since you unhappily married her, there has been anything in her conduct to justify suspicion!"

​"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."

​"How so?"

"You have had doe pistol practice?"

"I have not."

"You dever, perhaps, fired off a pistol id your life?"

"I never did."

"Well, thed, let be tell you this: if you fire at his head, you'll cut the groudd from udder hib: you bay, perhaps, take off the sole of wud of his boots, but the chadces are ted to wud id favour of your cutting up the turf; whereas, if you bake ad attebpt to fire id the air, add you do but fire straight, you'll be as safe to put the bullet through his head, as if the buzzle of the pistol were placed betweed his eyes; for, of course, you'll have to deal with hair triggers, add if you have, and you raise the pistol, off it goes sobe codsiderable tibe before you kdow where you are. Look at that pier-glass: it seebs at twelve paces to be remarkably easy to hit; but fire at it—you shall do so if you like after didder—fire right at it: you bay kdock the kdob off the todgs—you bay sbash the fedder—you bay crack the hearth-stode, or bake a sball hole id the rug—but you'll fide, udless you take a bost burderous aib, that you'll dot go dear the glass. The buzzle of a pistol, id the hadd of a dovice, is perfectly certaid to drop: just try it after didder."

"I've no desire to do so."

"Well, but thed you will see the effect!"

"My dear fellow, I've no ambition to become a duellist. I shall be able to fire as well as I wish to fire, for I'll take especial care that before I touch the trigger, the pistol shall point directly upwards. I have been grossly insulted by Sir Charles, it is true; but it is also true that when he insulted me, he imagined that I had seriously injured him. It was an error on his part: he had been deceived. I would not deprive any man of life because he happened to be labouring under a mistake."

"But Sir Charles would deprive you of life."

"If he should do so, the crime will be his, not mine."

"You will be, eved id that case, particeps cribidis. You kdow—you have, at all evedts, a right to assube—that his object is to kill you; add yet you voludtarily place yourself id a positiod to be killed! The cribe would dot be cobbitted were you dot to go out: you have id your owd hadds the power to prevedt it, add if you do dot, you are to all idtedts add purposes ad accessory."

"So are you—so is your father—and so is Mr. Scholefield! We are all accessories, in that sense: we all have the power to prevent it. But at the same time we all know that society would hold the exercise of that power to be dishonourable."

"If, thed, society thus forces a bad out, I codtedd that he is justified id firidg at his oppodedt. If I were to go out to-borrow, add I kdew that the object of by adtagodist was to kill be, I should fire as he fired, add if I killed hib I should call it justifiable hobicide. He who does dot idtedd to fire at his oppodedt has doe right to go out at all. I cad ibagide a case id which a bad would be justified id goidg out add firidg id the air: for exabple, that of a bad who had deeply idjured his friedd, add who felt it deeply, add who wished to give a tacit ackdowledg​bedt of the wrodg he had idflicted; but id a case like yours, a bad has doe right to go add stick hibself up like a target, add say to his oppodedt, id effect, 'Fire away! I have dot idjured you: dor shall I fire at you. I cabe out edtirely for your satisfactiod; therefore kill be if you cad.' It isd't a fair positiod for a bad to be placed id. It is, id fact, adythidg but a fair positiod."

"The position," said Sylvester, "is certainly unfair; and one point which you have suggested, will be sufficient to induce me not to fire as I intended. I'll not fire in the air lest it should be considered a tacit acknowledgment of guilt. No, I'll fire on one side."

"Id that case, the secodds had better look out. If you dod't bide, you'll burder wud of theb."

Sylvester smiled; and from this time till six Tom did all in his power to amuse him, and when Mr. Scholefield arrived with the chaise, he found him as calm and as firm as ever.

"You'll dot let be go thed?" said Tom.

"I should like you to go," returned Sylvester; "but of course it would not be exactly correct."

"Not exactly!" observed Mr. Scholefield.

"I could hadg od behide! But I'll dot do that. I suppose you bust have all the fud to yourselves. Adieu, old fellow! I'll wait at hobe for you. Drive back here ibbediately all is over. Adieu!"

Sylvester pressed his hand with warmth, and having said calmly,—"Tom—God bless you!" he joined Mr. Scholefield, who was apprehensive still, and they entered the postchaise together.

The meeting had been arranged to take place at Wormwood Scrubs, and on their way Mr. Scholefield was constantly looking back. This Sylvester ascribed to an anxiety to ascertain if Sir Charles were behind them; and when he heard him order the postboy to drive more slowly, he suggested that Sir Charles might be ahead.

"He may be," replied Mr. Scholefield; "I have no doubt he is."

He, nevertheless, continued to look anxiously behind, until suddenly his countenance assumed a gay expression, and he ordered the postboy to drive on fast.

On their arrival at the appointed spot, they found Sir Charles on the ground, and Mr. Scholefield, on alighting, went up to Sir William, with whom he for some time conversed. Everything bearing the semblance of an arrangement was of course out of the question, and as such was the case, the pistols were loaded and the ground was measured, but just as the principals were about to be placed, the general, with two officers, sprang upon the ground, exclaiming, "There are your prisoners!"

"What right, sir," demanded Sir Charles, fiercely, "What earthly right have you to interfere?"

"What right!" returned the general. "Independently of my common right as a man, I have the right of a father, firmly resolved to vindicate the honour of his child."

"Can the honour of your daughter be vindicated thus?"

"We shall see: we shall see. It never could be vindicated were you now to fall. No, no, Sir Charles; I can't spare you yet."

​
The interruption.

​
Jib struck with amazement.

​"From whom did you obtain your information?"

"Did I not hear Sir William D'Almaine announced? and did you conceive that I was totally blind?"

Sir Charles looked at Sir William, and evidently inferred that that announcement had been the cause of the general's interference.

"This," resumed the general, addressing the officers, "this is Sir Charles Julian, and this is Mr. Sylvester Sound. You have seen what they contemplated: you know for what purpose they have met. Arrest them."

The officers bowed; and as one of them followed Sir Charles to his carriage, the other accompanied Sylvester and Mr. Scholefield; and when the general had rejoined the friend with whom he came, and whom, despite his anxiety to conceal himself, Sylvester discovered to be the doctor, they returned to town, and went at once before a magistrate, who bound the parties over to keep the peace.