despair, as a twilight meadow whitens beneath the
evening frost. He had drawn the short lighter. Nothing in heaven or
earth could alter that fact.

He did not stop to wonder how Lord Newhaven had become aware of his own
dishonor, or at the strange weapon with which he had avenged himself. He
went over every detail of his encounter with him in the study. His hand
had been forced. He had been thrust into a vile position. He ought to
have refused to draw. He did not agree to draw. Nevertheless, he had
drawn. And Hugh knew that, if it had to be done again, he should again
have been compelled to draw by the iron will before which his was as
straw. He could not have met the scorn of those terrible half-closed
eyes if he had refused.

"There was no help for it," said Hugh, half aloud. And yet to die by his
own hand within five months! It was incredible. It was preposterous.

"I never agreed to it," he said, passionately.

_Nevertheless, he had drawn_. The remembrance ever returned to lay its
cold hand upon his heart, and with it came the grim conviction that if
Lord Newhaven had drawn the short lighter he would have carried out the
agreement to the letter. Whether it was extravagant, unchristian,
whatever might have been truly said of that unholy compact, Lord
Newhaven would have stood by it.

"I suppose I must stand by it, too," said Hugh to himself, the cold
sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I suppose I am bound in honor to
stand by it, too."

He suffered his mind to regard the alternative.

To wrong a man as deeply as he had wronged Lord Newhaven; to tacitly
accept. That was where his mistake had been. Another man, that
mahogany-faced fellow with the colonial accent, would have refused to
draw, and would have knocked Lord Newhaven down and half killed him, or
would have been knocked down and half killed by him. But to tacitly
accept a means by which the injured man risked his life to avenge his
honor, and then afterwards to shirk the fate which a perfectly even
chance had thrown upon him instead of on his antagonist! It was too
mean, too despicable. Hugh's pale cheek burned.

"I am bound," he said slowly to himself over and over again. There was
no way of escape.

Yesterday evening, with some intuition of coming peril, he had said, "I
will get out." The way of retreat had been open behind him. Now, by one
slight movement, he was cut off from it forever.

"I can't get out," said the starling, the feathers on