“Nothing is the matter.”

“Nothing?  You should look at your face in the glass.  Now I feel quite sure that you are going to commit a foolish action.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s no good denying it.”

“I tell you there’s nothing the matter with me.  Good bye, I shall see you again.”

“It’s no good, I won’t leave you.  Come along, we will walk together.”

His eyes happening to fall on my breeches pocket, he noticed my pistol, and putting his hand on the other pocket he felt the other pistol, and said,—­

“You are going to fight a duel; I should like to see it.  I won’t interfere with the affair, but neither will I leave you.”

I tried to put on a smile, and assured him that he was mistaken, and that I was only going for a walk to pass the time.

“Very good,” said Edgar, “then I hope my society is as pleasant to you as yours is to me; I won’t leave you.  After we have taken a walk we will go and dine at the ‘Canon.’  I will get two girls to come and join us, and we shall have a gay little party of four.”

“My dear friend, you must excuse me; I am in a melancholy mood, and I want to be alone to get over it.”

“You can be alone to-morrow, if you like, but I am sure you will be all right in the next three hours, and if not, why I will share your madness.  Where did you think of dining?”

“Nowhere; I have no appetite.  I have been fasting for the last three days, and I can only drink.”

“Ah!  I begin to see daylight.  Something has crossed you, and you are going to let it kill you as it killed one of my brothers.  I must see what can be done.”

Edgar argued, insisted, and joked till at last I said to myself, “A day longer will not matter, I can do the deed when he leaves me, and I shall only have to bear with life a few hours longer.”

When Edgar heard that I had no particular object in crossing the bridge he said that we had better turn back, and I let myself be persuaded; but in half an hour I begged him to take me somewhere where I could wait for him, as I could not bear the weight of the lead any longer.  I gave him my word of honour that I would meet him at the “Canon.”

As soon as I was alone I emptied my pockets, and put the leaden balls into a cupboard.  Then I lay down and began to consider whether the good-natured young man would prevent me committing suicide, as he had already made me postpone it.

I reasoned, not as one that hopes, but rather as one that foresaw that Edgar would hinder me from shortening my days.  Thus I waited in the tavern for the young Englishman, doubtful whether he was doing me a service or an injury.

He came back before long, and was pleased to find me.

“I reckoned on your keeping your word,” said he.

“You did not think that I would break my word of honour.”

“That’s all right; I see you are on the way to recovery.”