Little Novels

'No; I contradicted him instantly. And I said, besides, 'It's an insult to Miss Bowmore, to suppose that she would permit any impropriety.''

'Quite right! And what did he say?'

'Well, he lost his temper; I would rather not repeat what he said when he was mad with jealousy. There was nothing to be done with him but to give him his way.'

'Give him his way? Does that mean fight a duel with him?'

'Don't be angry—it does.'

'And you kept my name out of it, by pretending to quarrel at the card-table?'

'Yes. We managed it when the cardroom was emptying at supper-time, and nobody was present but Major Mulvany and another friend as witnesses.'

'And when did you fight the duel?'

'The next morning.'

'You never thought of me, I suppose?'

'Indeed, I did; I was very glad that you had no suspicion of what we were at.'

'Was that all?'

'No; I had your flower with me, the flower you gave me out of your nosegay, at the ball.'

'Well?'

'Oh, never mind, it doesn't matter.'

'It does matter. What did you do with my flower?'

'I gave it a sly kiss while they were measuring the ground; and (don't tell anybody!) I put it next to my heart to bring me luck.'

'Was that just before he shot at you?'

'Yes.'

'How did he shoot?'

'He walked (as the seconds had arranged it) ten paces forward; and then he stopped, and lifted his pistol —'

'Don't tell me any more! Oh, to think of my being the miserable cause of such horrors! I'll never dance again as long as I live. Did you think he had killed you, when the bullet wounded your poor neck?'

'No; I hardly felt it at first.'

'Hardly felt it? How he talks! And when the wretch had done his best to kill you, and when it came to your turn, what did you do?'

'Nothing.'

'What! You didn't walk your ten paces forward?'

'No.'

'And you never shot at him in return?'

'No; I had no quarrel with him, poor fellow; I just stood where I was, and fired in the air—'

Before he could stop her, Charlotte seized his hand, and kissed it with an hysterical fervor of admiration, which completely deprived him of his presence of mind.

'Why shouldn't I kiss the hand of a hero?' she cried, with tears of enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes. 'Nobody but a hero would have given that man his life; nobody but a hero would have pardoned him, while the blood was streaming from the wound that he had inflicted. I respect you, I admire you. Oh, don't think me bold! I can't control myself when I hear of anything noble and good. You will understand me better when we get to be old friends— won't you?'

She spoke in low sweet tones of entreaty. Percy's arm stole softly round her.

'Are we never to be nearer and dearer to each other than old friends?' he asked in a whisper. 'I am not a hero—your goodness overrates me, dear Miss Charlotte. My one ambition is to be the happy man who is worthy enough to win you. At your own time! I wouldn't distress you, I wouldn't confuse you, I wouldn't for the whole world take advantage of the compliment which your sympathy has paid to me. If it offends you, I won't even ask if I may hope.'

She sighed as he said the last words; trembled a little, and silently looked at him.

Percy read his answer in her eyes. Without meaning it on either side their heads drew nearer together; their cheeks, then their lips, touched. She started back from him, and rose to leave the conservatory. At the same moment, the sound of slowly-approaching footsteps became audible on the gravel walk of the garden. Charlotte hurried to the door.

'My father!' she exclaimed, turning to Percy. 'Come, and be introduced to him.'

Percy followed her into the garden.

CHAPTER VII.