ckoned the young sailor to follow him, and left the apartment. As it
was in vain that the remainder of the young men attempted to restrain
Whitaker, they agreed to accompany him in a body, in order, if possible,
to prevent mischief; all but the young advocate whom we have before
mentioned, who, having too great a respect for the law to patronise
other methods of redressing grievances, ran off to secure the assistance
of the city authorities.

The moon, which had been wading among thick masses of clouds, emerged
into the clear blue sky, and scattered her silver showers of light on
the rocks and green sides of Arthur's Seat, as the young men reached a
secluded part in the valley at its foot.

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the young poet to Frank, as they turned to
wait for Whitaker and his companions, "how horrible it is to desecrate
a scene and hour like this by violence--perhaps, Elliot, by _murder_!"
Frank did not reply; his thoughts were at that time with his aged mother
and his now unprotected sister; and he bitterly reflected that to
whoever of them, in the approaching contest, wounds or death might fall,
poor Harriet would have equally to suffer. But the young sailor, still
boiling with rage, at that moment approached, and throwing his cloak on
a rock, cried, "Now, sir!" and placed himself in attitude.

Their swords crossed, and, for a brief space, nothing was heard but the
hard breathing of the spectators and the clashing of the steel, as the
well-practised combatants parried each other's thrusts. Elliot was,
incomparably, the cooler of the two, and he threw away many chances in
which his adversary placed himself open to a palpable hit, his aim being
to disarm his antagonist without wounding him. An unforeseen accident
prevented this. Whitaker, pressing furiously forward, struck his foot
against a stone, and falling, received Elliot's sword in his body, the
hilt, striking with a deep, quick, sullen sound against his breast. The
young sailor fell with a sharp aspiration of anguish; and his victorious
adversary, horrified by the sight, and rendered silent by the sudden
revulsion of his feelings, stood, for some time, gazing at his sword,
from the point of which the blood drops trickled slowly, and fell on the
dewy sward. "'Tis the blood of my dearest, oldest friend--of my brother;
and shed by my hand!" he muttered at length, flinging away the guilty
blade. His only answer was the groans of his victim, and the shrill