to speak no ill of the living?  Little could it have mattered to Madam Bogardus or Madam Stuyvesant what a lot of silly people said of them in Pearl Street or Maiden Lane, a century after their death; but poor Katherine Van Heemskirk shivered and sickened in the presence of averted eyes and uplifted shoulders, and in that chill atmosphere of disapproval which separated her from the sympathy and confidence of her old friends and acquaintances.

“It is thy punishment,” said her mother, “bear it bravely and patiently.  In a little while, it will be forgot.”  But the weeks went on, and the wounded men slowly fought death away from their pillows, and Katherine did not recover the place in social estimation which she had lost through the ungovernable tempers of her lovers.  For, alas, there are few social pleasures that have so much vital power as that of exploring the faults of others, and comparing them with our own virtues!

But nothing ill lasts forever; and in three months Neil Semple was in his office again, wan and worn with fever and suffering, and wearing his sword arm in a sling, but still decidedly world-like and life-like.  It was characteristic of Neil that few, even of his intimates, cared to talk of the duel to him, to make any observations on his absence, or any inquiries about his health.  But it was evident that public opinion was in a large measure with him.  Every young Provincial, who resented the domineering spirit of the army, felt Hyde’s punishment in the light of a personal satisfaction.  Beekman also had talked highly of the unbending spirit and physical bravery of his principal; and though in the Middle Kirk the affair was sure to be the subject of a reproof, and of a suspension of its highest privileges, yet it was not difficult to feel that sympathy often given to deeds publicly censured, but privately admired.  Joris remarked this spirit with a little astonishment and dissent.  He could not find in his heart any excuse for either Neil or Hyde; and, when the elder enlarged with some acerbity upon the requirements of honour among men, Joris offended him by replying,—­

“Well, then, Elder, little I think of that ‘honour’ which runs not with the laws of God and country.”

“Let me tell you, Joris, the ‘voice of the people is the voice of God,’ in a measure; and you may see with your ain een that it mair than acquits Neil o’ wrong-doing.  Man, Joris! would you punish a fair sword-fight wi’ the hangman?”

“A better way there is.  In the pillory I would stand these men of honour, who of their own feelings think more than of the law of God.  A very quick end that punishment would put to a custom wicked and absurd.”

“Weel, Joris, we’ll hae no quarrel anent the question.  You are a Dutchman, and hae practical ideas o’ things in general.  Honour is a virtue that canna be put in the Decalogue, like idolatry and murder and theft.”

“Say you the Decalogue?  Its yea and nay are enough.  Harder than any of God’s laws are the laws we make for ourselves.  Little I think of their justice and wisdom.  If right was Neil, if wrong was Hyde, honour punished both.  A very foolish law is honour, I think.”