tation."

"Your reason, my lord," said Denbigh, with interest, "would at all times
have its weight; but I wish not to qualify an act of what I conceive to be
principle by any lesser consideration. I cannot meet Captain Jarvis, or
any other man, in private combat. There can exist no necessity for an
appeal to arms in any society where the laws rule, and I am averse to
bloodshed."

"Very extraordinary," muttered Captain Digby, somewhat at a loss how to
act; but the calm and collected manner of Denbigh prevented a reply; and
after declining a cup of tea, a liquor he never drank, he withdrew, saying
he would acquaint his friend with Mr. Denbigh's singular notions.

Captain Digby had left Jarvis at an inn, about half a mile from the
rectory, for the convenience of receiving early information of the result
of his conference. The young man had walked up and down the room during
Digby's absence, in a train of reflections entirely new to him. He was the
only son of his aged father and mother, the protector of his sisters, and,
he might say, the sole hope of a rising family; and then, possibly,
Denbigh might not have meant to offend him--he might even have been
engaged before they came to the house; or if not, it might have been
inadvertence on the part of Miss Moseley. That Denbigh would offer some
explanation he believed, and he had fully made up his mind to accept it,
let it be what it might, as his fighting friend entered.

"Well," said Jarvis, in a tone that denoted anything but a consciousness
that all _was_ well.

"He says he will not meet you," dryly exclaimed his friend, throwing
himself into a chair, and ordering a glass of randy and water.

"Not meet me!" exclaimed Jarvis, in surprise. "Engaged, perhaps?"

"Engaged to his d--d conscience."

"To his conscience! I do not know whether I rightly understand you,
Captain Digby," said Jarvis, catching his breath, and raising his voice a
very little.

"Then, Captain Jarvis," said his friend, tossing off his brandy, and
speaking with great deliberation, "he says that nothing--understand
me--_nothing_ will ever make him fight a duel."

"He will not!" cried Jarvis, in a loud voice.

"No, he will not," said Digby, handing his glass to the waiter for a fresh
supply.

"He shall, by----!"

"I don't know how you will make him."

"Make him! I'll--I'll post him."

"Never do that," said the captain, turning to him, as he leaned his elbows
on the table. "It only makes b