“Dare not,” repeated the young man, light flashing from his eye as if his spirit chafed at that word, even from his brother, “dare not; you mistake me, Herbert.  I will not sit tamely down beneath an injury such as this.  I will not see that villain triumph without one effort to prove to him that he is known, and make the whole world know him as he is.”

“And would a hostile meeting accomplish this?  Would that proclaim his villainy, of whatever nature it may be, to the world?  Would they not rather side with him, their present minion, and even bring forward your unjustifiable conduct as a fresh proof in his favour?  How would they give credit to the terms they may hear you apply to him, when even in your family you speak not of the true cause of this strange agitation and indignant anger.”

Percy continued to pace the room for some minutes without answering.

“My honour has been insulted in the person of my sister,” he muttered, at length, as if speaking more to himself than to his brother; “and am I to bear that calmly?  Were the truth made known, would not the whole world look on me with scorn as a spiritless coward, to whom the law of honour was as nothing; who would see his sister suffering from the arts of a miscreant, without one effort to revenge her?”

“The law of honour,” replied Herbert, bitterly; “it is the law of blood, of murder, of wilful, uncalled-for murder.  Percy, my brother, banish these guilty thoughts.  Do not be one of those misguided beings who, from that false deceiving plea, the law of honour, condemn whole families to misery, and themselves, without preparation, without prayer, nay, in the very act of disobeying a sacred commandment of their God, rush heedless into His presence, into awful eternity.”

He paused, but not vainly had he spoken.  Percy gazed on his brother’s features with greater calmness, and more kindly, but still impetuously, said—­

“Would you then have me stand calmly by and behold my sister a suffering victim to his arts, though actual sin, thank God, has been spared, and thus permit that villain Alphingham to continue his course triumphant?”

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it,” answered Herbert, instantly, twining his arm within that of his brother, and looking up in his face with that beseeching glance of affection which was so peculiar to his features.  “Dear brother, rest on those words and be contented.  It is not for us to think of vengeance or to seek for retribution; justice is, indeed, ours to claim, but in this case, there is no point on which we can demand it.  Let Alphingham, even granting you know him as he is, pursue his course in peace.  Did you endeavour to inflict chastisement, is it not doubting the wisdom and justice of the Almighty?  And suppose you fell instead of your adversary, in the meeting you would seek—­what, think you, would be the emotions of all those who so dearly love you,