“Oh, sir! will you let him get away? will you let him go unpunished?”

“He cannot be punished,” answered the surgeon, looking at her with mingled curiosity and admiration.

“I thought men were hung for murder.”

“Yes—­but this is not murder.”

“Not murder?  He shot him dead!  What is it?”

“He killed him in a duel, which is considered quite right and altogether proper.”

“A duel?”

She had never heard the word before, and pondered an instant.

“To take a man’s life is murder.  Is there no law to punish ’a duel’?”

“None strong enough to prohibit the practice.  It is regarded as the only method of honorable satisfaction open to gentlemen.”

“Honorable satisfaction?” she repeated—­weighing the new phraseology as cautiously and fearfully as she would have handled the bloody garments of the victim.

“What is your name?” asked the surgeon.

“Edna Earl.”

“Do you live near this place?”

“Yes, sir, very near.”

“Is your father at home?”

“I have no father, but grandpa has not gone to the shop yet.”

“Will you show me the way to the house?”

“Do you wish to carry him there?” she asked, glancing at the corpse, and shuddering violently.

“Yes, I want some assistance from your grandfather.”

“I will show you the way, sir.”

The surgeon spoke hurriedly to the two remaining gentlemen, and followed his guide.  Slowly she retraced her steps, refilled her bucket at the spring, and walked on before the stranger.  But the glory of the morning had passed away; a bloody mantle hung between the splendor of summer sunshine and the chilled heart of the awe-struck girl.  The forehead of the radiant, holy June day had been suddenly red-branded like Cain, to be henceforth an occasion of hideous reminiscences; and with a blanched face and trembling limbs the child followed a narrow, beaten path, which soon terminated at the gate of a rude, unwhitewashed paling.  A low, comfortless looking three-roomed house stood within, and on the steps sat an elderly man, smoking a pipe, and busily engaged in mending a bridle.  The creaking of the gate attracted his attention, and he looked up wonderingly at the advancing stranger.

“Oh, grandpa! there is a murdered man lying in the grass, under the chestnut trees, down by the spring.”

“Why! how do you know he was murdered?”

“Good morning, sir.  Your granddaughter happened to witness a very unfortunate and distressing affair.  A duel was fought at sunrise, in the edge of the woods yonder, and the challenged party, Mr. Dent, of Georgia, was killed.  I came to ask permission to bring the body here, until arrangements can be made for its interment; and also to beg your assistance in obtaining a coffin.”

Edna passed on to the kitchen, and as she deposited the bucket on the table, a tall, muscular, red-haired woman, who was stooping over the fire, raised her flushed face, and exclaimed angrily: