“Enough, enough, Frank,” said Talbot, with a face, in which conscious innocence and manly fortitude were blended; “you have said more than I ever expected to have heard from you, and more than the customs of the world will allow me to put up with.  What must be, must; but I still tell you, Frank, that you are wrong—­that you are fatally deluded, and that you will bitterly repent the follies of this day.  It is yourself with whom you are angry, and you are venting that anger on your friend.”

The words were thrown away on me.  I felt a secret malignant pleasure, which blindly impelled me forward, with the certainty of glutting my revenge, by either destroying or being destroyed.  My sole preparation for this dreadful conflict was my pistols; no other did I think of, not even the chances of sending my friend and fellow-mortal, or going myself into the presence of an Almighty judge.  My mind was absorbed in secret pleasure, at the idea of that acute misery which Emily would suffer if I fell by the hand of Talbot.

I repaired to the rendezvous, where I found Talbot waiting.  He came up to me, and again said,

“Frank, I call heaven to witness that you are mistaken.  You are wrong.  Suspend your opinion, at least, if you will not recall your words.”

Totally possessed by the devil, and not to be convinced, till too late, I replied to his peaceful overture by the most insulting irony:  “You were not afraid to fire at a poor boy in the water,” said I, “though you do not like to stand a shot in return.  Come, come, take your ground, be a man, stand up, don’t be afraid.”

“For myself,” said Talbot, with a firm and placid resignation of countenance, “I have no fears; but for you, Frank, I have great cause of alarm:”  so saying, he snatched up the loaded pistol which I threw down to him.

We had no seconds; nor was there any person in sight.  It was a bright moonlight, and we walked to the water’s edge, where the reflux of the tide had left the sand firm to the tread.  Here we stood back to back.  The usual distance was fourteen paces.  Talbot refused to measure his, but stood perfectly still.  I walked ten paces, and turned round, “Ready,” said I in a low voice.

We both raised our arms; but Talbot, instantly dropping the muzzle of his pistol, said, “I cannot fire at the brother of Clara.”

“I can at her insulter,” answered I; and, taking deliberate aim, fired, and my ball entered his side.  He bounded, gave a half turn round in the air, and fell on his face to the ground.

How sudden are the transitions of the human mind! how close does remorse follow the gratification of revenge!  The veil dropped from my eyes; I saw in an instant the false medium, the deceitful vision which had thus allured me into what the world calls “an affair of honour.”  “Honour,” good heaven! had made me a murderer, and the voice of my brother’s blood cried out for vengeance.