accept his apology," I answered, in a leisurely
and nonchalant manner. My heart expanded at
about this period.

"Has anybody got writing materials about
him by chance?" asked my second, in a not
very conciliatory tone.

Yes, the apothecary had, and he whipped them
out in a moment—a note-book of unusual size
and an indelible ink-pencil.

An apology of the most humble and abject
kind was now dictated by my friend
Dewsnap, and written down by the crushed and
conquered Huffell. When he had affixed his
signature to the document, it exactly filled
one leaf of the apothecary's memorandum-book.
The leaf was torn out and handed to my
representative. At that moment the sound of the
village-clock striking nine reached us from the
distant church.

Mr. Huffell started as if the day were more
advanced than he anticipated.

"I believe that the document is regular?" he
asked. "If so, there is nothing to detain us
in a spot henceforth replete with painful
associations. Gentlemen both, good morning."

"Good morning, sir," said Dewsnap, sharply;
"and allow me to add, that you have reason to
consider yourself an uncommonly lucky young
man."

"I do so consider myself, I assure you,"
retorted the servile wretch.

With that, he took his leave and disappeared
over the stile, closely followed by his companion.
Again I thought I heard this precious pair
explode into fits of laughter as soon as they were
On the other side of the hedge.

Dewsnap looked at me, and I looked at
Dewsnap, but we could make nothing of it. It was
the most inexplicable thing that the man should
have gone so far, should have had his finger on
the trigger of his pistol, should have waited till
the very signal to fire was on the lips of his
second, and should then have broken down in
that lamentable manner. It really was, as my
friend and I agreed, the most disgraceful piece
of cowardice of which we had ever had
experience. Another point on which we were
agreed, was, that our side had come out of this
affair with an amount of honour and glory such
as is rarely achieved by the sons of men in this
practical and un-romantic age.

And now behold the victor and his friends
assembled round the small dining-table at the
George and Dragon, and celebrating their
triumph by a breakfast! in preparing which nil
the resources of the establishment were brought
into play.

It was a solemn occasion. The moment, I
acknowledge, was to me a glorious one. My
friends, naturally proud of their associate, and
anxious to commemorate in some fitting manner
the event of the morning, had invited me to this
meal to be provided at their own expense. These
dear fellows were no longer my guests. I was
theirs. Dewsnap was in the chair—it was of the
Windsor pattern—I was placed on his right:
while at the other end of the table, which
was not very far off, another Windsor chair
supported the person of Mr. Cripps, the vice.
The viands set before us were of the most recherché description, and when these had been
done full justice to, and the chair had called for
a bottle of champagne, our hilarity began almost
to verge on the boisterous. My own mirth,
indeed, was chastened by one pervading thought,
of which I never for a moment lost sight. Had
I not a secret joy which champagne could neither
increase nor diminish ? Had not my rival formally
abdicated, and was I not that very day to appear
in the presence of Mary Nuttlebury as one who
had risked his life for her sake ? Yes. I waited
impatiently for the hour when these good fellows
should take their departure, determining that, the
moment they were gone, I would take possession
of the field ingloriously vacated by my rival, and
would enjoy the fruits of my victory. I was
aroused from these reflections by the voice of
my friend Dewsnap. It was, however, no longer
the familiar acquaintance who spoke, but the
official chairman.

Mr. Dewsnap began by remarking that we
were met together on an occasion and under
circumstances, of a very peculiar—he might
almost say of an anomalous—nature. To begin
with, here was a social meeting—nay, a convivial
meeting, taking place at ten o'clock in the
forenoon. That was the first anomaly. And for
what was that meeting convened? To
commemorate an act belonging to a class of achievements
usually associated with a bygone age,
rather than with that in which an inexorable
Destiny had cast the lots of the present generation.
Here was the second anomaly. Yes, these
were anomalies, but anomalies of what a delightful
kind! Would there were more such! It was
—Mr. Dewsnap went on to say—the fashion of
the day to decry the practice of duelling, but he,
for his part, had always felt that circumstances
might occur in the course of any man's career
which would render an appeal to arms desirable
—nay, to one who was sensitive on the point of
honour, inevitable—and he therefore thought it
highly important that the practice of duelling
should not wholly fall into desuetude, but should
be occasionally revived, as it had been on—on
—in short, the present occasion.

At this moment, curiously enough, a faint
cheer was heard in the distance. It came, doubtless,
from the throats of some of the village-
boys, and presently subsided. It was enough,
however, to deprive our worthy chair of the
thread of his eloquence, so that he was
compelled to start again on a new tack.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Dewsnap, "I must
throw myself on your indulgence if my words
fail to flow as freely as I could wish. I am, to
begin with, gentlemen, powerfully moved, and
that alone is enough to deprive me of any small
amount of eloquence of which I may at other
times be possessed. Likewise, I must frankly
own that I am unaccustomed to public speaking
at ten o'clock in the morning, and that
the day-light puts me out. And yet,"
continued the chair, "I do not know why this