n the cup
was already full, was the drop that overflowed. The great column of his
past world was gone, and all else seemed crumbling away.

At length Colonel Danvers entered. Maltravers drew him aside, and they
left the club.

"Danvers," said the latter, "the time in which I told you I should need
your services is near at hand; let me see you, if possible, to-night."

"Certainly--I shall be, at the House till eleven. After that hour you
will find me at home."

"I thank you."

"Cannot this matter be arranged amicably?"

"No, it is a quarrel of life and death."

"Yet the world is really growing too enlightened for these old mimicries
of single combat."

"There are some cases in which human nature and its deep wrongs will be
ever stronger than the world and its philosophy. Duels and wars belong
to the same principle; both are sinful on light grounds and poor
pretexts. But it is not sinful for a soldier to defend his country from
invasion, nor for man, with a man's heart, to vindicate truth and honour
with his life. The robber that asks me for money I am allowed to shoot.
Is the robber that tears from me treasures never to be replaced, to go
free? These are the inconsistencies of a pseudo-ethics, which, as long
as we are made of flesh and blood, we can never subscribe to."

"Yet the ancients," said Danvers, with a smile, "were as passionate as
ourselves, and they dispensed with duels."

"Yes, because they resorted to assassination!" answered Maltravers, with
a gloomy frown. "As in revolutions all law is suspended, so are there
stormy events and mighty injuries in life which are as revolutions to
individuals. Enough of this--it is no time to argue like the schoolmen.
When we meet you shall know all, and you will judge like me. Good day!"

"What, are you going already? Maltravers, you look ill, your hand is
feverish--you should take advice."

Maltravers smiled--but the smile was not like his own--shook his head,
and strode rapidly away.

Three of the London clocks, one after the other, had told the hour
of nine, as a tall and commanding figure passed up the street towards
Saxingham House. Five doors before you reach that mansion there is a
crossing, and at this spot stood a young man, in whose face youth itself
looked sapless and blasted. It was then March;--the third of March;
the weather was unusually severe and biting, even for that angry month.
There had been snow in the morning, and it lay white and drear