“Captain Jarvis has empowered me, sir, to make any arrangement with yourself or friend, previously to your meeting, which he hopes may be as soon as possible, if convenient to yourself,” replied the soldier, coolly.

Denbigh viewed him for a moment with astonishment, in silence; when recollecting himself, he said mildly, and without the least agitation, “I cannot affect, sir, not to understand your meaning, but am at a loss to imagine what act of mine can have made Mr. Jarvis wish to make such an appeal.”

“Surely Mr. Denbigh cannot think a man of Captain Jarvis’s spirit can quietly submit to the indignity put upon him last evening, by your dancing with Miss Moseley, after she had declined the honor to himself,” said the captain, affecting an incredulous smile.  “My Lord Chatterton and myself can easily settle the preliminaries, as Captain Jarvis is much disposed to consult your wishes, sir, in this affair.”

“If he consults my wishes,” said Denbigh, smiling, “he will think no more about it.”

“At what time, sir, will it be convenient to give him the meeting?” then, speaking with a kind of bravado gentlemen of his cast are fond of assuming, “my friend would not hurry any settlement of your affairs.”

“I can never meet Captain Jarvis with hostile intentions,” replied Denbigh, calmly.

“Sir!”

“I decline the combat, sir,” said Denbigh, with more firmness.

“Your reasons, sir, if you please?” asked Captain Digby compressing his lips, and drawing up with an air of personal interest.

“Surely,” cried Chatterton, who had with difficulty estrained his feelings, “surely Mr. Denbigh could never so far forget himself as cruelly’ to expose Miss Moseley by accepting this invitation.”

“Your reason, my lord,” said Denbigh, with interest, “would at all times have its weight; but I wish not to qualify an act of what I conceive to be principle by any lesser consideration.  I cannot meet Captain Jarvis, or any other man, in private combat.  There can exist no necessity for an appeal to arms in any society where the laws rule, and I am averse to bloodshed.”

“Very extraordinary,” muttered Captain Digby, somewhat at a loss how to act; but the calm and collected manner of Denbigh prevented a reply; and after declining a cup of tea, a liquor he never drank, he withdrew, saying he would acquaint his friend with Mr. Denbigh’s singular notions.

Captain Digby had left Jarvis at an inn, about half a mile from the rectory, for the convenience of receiving early information of the result of his conference.  The young man had walked up and down the room during Digby’s absence, in a train of reflections entirely new to him.  He was the only son of his aged father and mother, the protector of his sisters, and, he might say, the sole hope of a rising family; and then, possibly, Denbigh might not have meant to offend him—­he might even have been engaged before they came to the house; or if not, it might have been inadvertence on the part of Miss Moseley.  That Denbigh would offer some explanation he believed, and he had fully made up his mind to accept it, let it be what it might, as his fighting friend entered.