at night, to see Madge act,
and we three met her after the performance and were driven to her
lodgings with her. I then bade the ladies good-night, with a secret
tenderness arising from the possibility, unknown to them, that our
parting then might be for as many months as they supposed hours.

Returning to Philip at the tavern, I found he had passed the evening
in writing letters; among others, one for me to copy in my own name,
to be left at Madge's lodgings in case of my having to flee the
country for awhile. It was so phrased that the result of the duel,
whether in Philip's death or his antagonist's, could be told by the
insertion of a single line, after its occurrence.

Phil and I rose betimes the next morning, and went by hackney-coach,
in the darkness, to a place in the Oxford road, near Tyburn; where we
left our conveyance waiting, and proceeded afoot to the chosen spot in
the Park.

No one was there when we arrived, and we paced to and fro together to
keep in exercise, talking in low voices, and beguiling our agitation
by confining our thoughts to a narrow channel. The sod was cool and
soft to our tread, and the smell of the leaves was pleasant to our
nostrils. As the sky whitened above the silent trees, and the gray
light penetrated to the grassy turf at our feet, Phil quoted softly
the line from Grey's Elegy in which the phrase of "incense-breathing
morn" occurs; and from that he went to certain parts of Milton's
"L'Allegro" and then to Shakespeare's songs, "When Daisies Pied" and
"Under the Greenwood Tree."

"'Faith," said he, breaking off from the poetry, "'tis a marvel how
content I feel! You would not believe it, the serene happiness that
has come over me. 'Tis easy to explain, though: I have adjusted my
affairs, provided for my wife, left nothing in confusion or disorder,
and am as ready for death as for life. I feel at last responsible to
no one; free to accept whatever fate I may incur; clear of burdens.
The great thing, man, is to have one's debts paid, one's obligations
discharged: then death or life matters little, and the mere act of
breathing fresh air is a joy unspeakable."

We now descried the figures of Falconer, Idsleigh, and a third
gentleman, approaching under the trees. Civil greetings passed as they
came up, and Falconer overwent the demands of mere courtesy so far as
to express himself upon the coolness and sweetness of the morning. But
he was scrutinising Philip curiously the while,