rely glad that circumstances rendered it
impossible for me to treat you as a gentleman; but as to this person,
(pointing to St. Maur,) I can easily satisfy him that he will run no
risk of losing his reputation by honoring me with his notice. I have
the honor to refer Monsieur St. Maur to Mr. ----, now at the St.
Charles, whose character for honor is too well known throughout the
country to be disputed." And, bowing low, Medwin left the room.

"Well, now this is a pretty scrape," said St. Maur, subsiding at once;
"and I don't see how I can avoid fighting him. He is not such a
cockroach!" and the Frenchman turned a little pale, despite his yellow
skin.

"Nonsense," replied Allington, "you shall do no such thing. In the
first place, I can't spare you; and in the next, if we can
irretrievably disgrace Medwin, so that he may be shunned by everybody,
I do not think the weak head of my Clara can withstand the storm; and
she will gradually learn to despise him, too. So take no further
notice of this matter; for a blow from a published coward carries no
more disgrace with it than a bite from a dog, or a kick from an ass.
You must help me out with my plans, too, in behalf of my charming
heiress, and I'll be sure to remember you in my will. Let's take a
julep."

For three days Medwin waited in an agony of impatience to hear from
St. Maur, but not a word came--and he began to despair. Everywhere he
went he was regarded with significant glances, and pointed at, while a
disdainful whisper ran round the room, in which he could always
distinguish the words, "white-livered Yankee," "coward," or some
equally obnoxious epithet. He saw the cruel game that was playing
against him. He had forgotten that, in refusing to fight with
Allington, he had rendered it perfectly safe for every whipster in the
community to insult him; and he now became suddenly aware that he had
involved himself in a dilemma from which it was impossible for him to
escape.

In the midst of these reflections--while life had become intolerable,
and infamy and disgrace dogged his steps like a shadow--he never
entertained a doubt of Clara's love and constancy, and looked forward
to the time when he might claim her as his bride, and, amid the milder
and manlier associations of his youth, regain that calmness and
self-respect which he had here so strangely lost. His position was, in
truth, a most wretched one. Opposed to the barbarous practice of
dueling, circumstances