Bernard also was greatly troubled in his mind.  He would have had no objection to fight a duel with Crosbie, had duels in these days been possible.  But he believed them to be no longer possible, at any rate without ridicule.  And if he could not fight the man, in what other way was he to punish him?  Was it not the fact that for such a fault the world afforded no punishment?  Was it not in the power of a man like Crosbie to amuse himself for a week or two at the expense of a girl’s happiness for life, and then to escape absolutely without any ill effects to himself?  “I shall be barred out of my club lest I should meet him,” Bernard said to himself, “but he will not be barred out.”  Moreover, there was a feeling within him that the matter would be one of triumph to Crosbie rather than otherwise.  In having secured for himself the pleasure of his courtship with such a girl as Lily Dale, without encountering the penalty usually consequent upon such amusement, he would be held by many as having merited much admiration.  He had sinned against all the Dales, and yet the suffering arising from his sin was to fall upon the Dales exclusively.  Such was Bernard’s reasoning, as he speculated on the whole affair, sadly enough,—­wishing to be avenged, but not knowing where to look for vengeance.  For myself I believe him to have been altogether wrong as to the light in which he supposed that Crosbie’s falsehood would be regarded by Crosbie’s friends.  Men will still talk of such things lightly, professing that all is fair in love as it is in war, and speaking almost with envy of the good fortunes of a practised deceiver.  But I have never come across the man who thought in this way with reference to an individual case.  Crosbie’s own judgment as to the consequences to himself of what he had done was more correct than that formed by Bernard Dale.  He had regarded the act as venial as long as it was still to do,—­while it was still within his power to leave it undone; but from the moment of its accomplishment it had forced itself upon his own view in its proper light.  He knew that he had been a scoundrel, and he knew that other men would so think of him.  His friend Fowler Pratt, who had the reputation of looking at women simply as toys, had so regarded him.  Instead of boasting of what he had done, he was as afraid of alluding to any matter connected with his marriage as a man is of talking of the articles which he has stolen.  He had already felt that men at his club looked askance at him; and, though he was no coward as regarded his own skin and bones, he had an undefined fear lest some day he might encounter Bernard Dale purposely armed with a stick.  The squire and his nephew were wrong in supposing that Crosbie was unpunished.