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HENRI D’EGVILLE.

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sir, thinking the—ah—man who would be base enough to insult him, sir, without having the courage to meet him as a zentleman, deserves to be treated as a scoun- drel. He will feel himself called on publicly to chas- tise you.”

The choler rushed into Stewart's face, at hearing this insulting menace; but in a moment ‘he was cool. Putting himself in Wilthorpe’s attitude, and admirably mimicking his voice and action, he said—

“Are you aware, sir, that by honouring me, sir, by going down this accommodation-ladder, sir—ah,—you will save me the disagreeable necessity, sir, of pitch- ing you, sir,—ah,—overboard, sir.”

This remark was made in such a manner. that it provoked the mate, carpenter, steward, and two sai- lors, who had unperceived drawn within earshot, to a boisterous fit of laughter. Wilthorpe coloured deeply, and tried to smile in contempt; but he looked, to use the mate’s reading of a passage in Shakspeare, “like patience on a lee-catshead, smiling at a wet-swab.”

“Let us tar and feather the unboiled lobster,” said the steward. No sooner was this proposed, than, de- lighted with the suggestion, the people surrounded Wilthorpe, and the mate bawled out, “Here, cook, bring the tar-pot; here’s the devil to pay, and no pitch hot.”

“Go forward!” said the Captain, in an authoritative tone; “how dare you interfere with my quarrels!” The seamen reluctantly obeyed.

“I hope,” said Stewart, “that Mr. Wilthorpe will not give me the trouble of protecting him from insult.”

Wiilthorpe thought the hint too good to neglect it; so, descending the ladder, seated himself in the boat, and, darting a revengeful look at the Captain, went ashore.

“TI know not,” said Stewart, calmly, “nor care I what may be said of my conduct; but, having once shed the life’s blood of a man, my conscience forbids My accepting any more challenges. I conceive life too estimable a gift to treat its Giver with ingratitude, by throwing it away, to satisfy the fiend-like propen- sity of one I despise.”

“Your resolution does you honour, but should he—” I was about to express that which I should not on re- collection. I took the awkward course of stopping in the middle of my sentence.

“T anticipate your thoughts: you need not fear to utter them. You would inquire how I would act were this D’Egville to put in practice what yon cat- faced youth threatened. scars of five ‘ wounds in front.’ These are honourable marks of my having served my country; three of those were obtained on board the Victory, the day that the greatest naval hero that ever the ocean bore exchanged a life of glory for immortality. These scars (he displayed two on his breast as he spoke) are too deep to be effaced by the hand of an inebriated duellist.”

These resolutions were noble: (but, alas, for human nature) they were not kept. Within an hour of this conversation, Stewart had business on shore to “clear out” his vessel, preparatory to his sailing the following morning. Being free from the disorder with which I awoke, I accompanied him. After we landed, and while Stewart was giving orders to one of his sea- men, D’Egville, who had waited for him at a corner, sprang unperceived and unexpected upon him, with an activity that was surprising for a man in his state. He struck the Captain with a small horsewhip across the face; and, ere Stewart recovered himself, vaulted into his saddle and rode off. This was done in the presence of several persons. Never shall I forget the dreadful expression of Stewart’s countenance. On or- dinary occasions his features were handsome and so regular, that one might judge them incapable of strong- ly indicating any deep passion; but now they were

I have about my person the,

inimitably and inexpressibly awful. The most violent indignation and the blackest wrath flashed from his eyes, and distorted every lineament of his visage, which became absolutely party-coloured with conflict- ing emotions.

After some minutes I lead, or rather dragged, him into my apartments; which happened to be on the ground-floor, within a few yards of us. He was quite passive. I conjured him to moderate his rage; he seemed not to hear what I said, but burst into a terri- ble laugh. Tears are seldom shed by agony: groans, and even execrations, relieve it; but the laugh of wrath indicates the climax of human passion. After a pause, he walked, with a hurried step, across the apartment several times; then, stopping short, called me by my name, and asked me if [ was near. I am swered in the affirmative, and he again traversed the room; when he re-paused, and said, in a deep tone— “Yes, it shall be so: I will rid the world of a mur- derer at the expense of my life———Tropic, where the d are you?!”

“Here, sir.” He grasped my hand with a force that brought the blood to my nails; and, looking me in the face, said—

“Will you be my friend on this occasion?” To re- monstrate with him fur inconsistency in his present state of mind, was madness: besides, I felt too indig- nant at D’Egville’s conduct to attempt to pacify him. I, therefore, answered in the affirmative. “Listen, then, to the terms I intend sending this ” He paused for an epithet; but memory could not supply him any one with which he chose to designate his enemy. He briefly told me of the plan he had formed to rid the world of D’Egville, and, at the same time, sacrificing himself. His proposal wasso dreadful that, after a pause, I dectined being his second.

“What!” said he, “you would be my friend, as it is called, and place me at ten or twelve paces for the assassin safely to destroy me?—no matter; I will seek some other—but where?—true!—No one will, per- haps, second a man whom they are sure would be killed, so I'll meet him without a second. Wilthorpe, the bullet-splitter, shall officiate for both!”

I was in a horrid dilemma. I had to choose be- tween the alternative of seconding him in an affair in which both the principals were morally sure of being killed, or of leaving him to fall, unattended by a friend —perhaps exposed to the machinations of Wilthorpe, whose conduct and character were infamous. Aftera — moment’s consideration, a kind of hope whispered to me that Stewart would escape.

“[ will be your friend,” I exclaimed, “in this dread- ful affair.” He said nothing, but embraced me.

“But hold! I must send four of our seamen to dig” our grave; then write my will, and give directions to my mate; remember the hour is six; and the place on the beach behind Iguanna rock. Onno other conside- ration will I fight.”

“T will recollect.”

“Away, then'’ I left him, sought the dwelling of D’Egville; and was ushered into his presence.

‘Although it was two o'clock, he was at dejeune; this repast consisted of a strongly-seasoned dish, called “pepper-pot,” and a bottle of claret. On my entering, he arose, bowed, and said, “A votre service, Mon- sieur.” I briefly thanked him, declined his invitation, and informing him that I bore a message from Captain Stewart. At hearing this his countenance brightened, and took a demoniac smile. Anticipating my errand, he said—

“Ah, he at length consents to meet me: I: wonder a man of his former profession should give me so much trouble to make him act like ‘un homme comme il faut.’”

“You have rightly guessed the cause of this visit; and will, of course, have no objections to meet my