“My dear O’Shaughnessy, explain, I beg of you. Does he refuse to meet me for any reason—”
“He does,” said the major, turning on me a look of deep feeling as he spoke; “and he does it to ruin you, my boy. But as sure as my name is Dan, he’ll fail this time. He was sitting with his friend Beaufort when I reached his quarters, and received me with all the ceremonious politeness he well knows how to assume. I told him in a few words the object of my visit; upon which Trevyllian, standing up, referred me to his friend for a reply, and left the room. I thought that all was right, and sat down to discuss, as I believed, preliminaries, when the cool puppy, with his back to the fire, carelessly lisped out, ‘It can’t be, Major; your friend is too late.’
“‘Too late? too late?’ said I.
“‘Yes, precisely so; not up to time. The affair should have come off some weeks since. We won’t meet him now.’
“‘This is really your answer?’
“‘This is really my answer; and not only so, but the decision of our mess.’
“What I said after this he may remember; devil take me if I can. But I have a vague recollection of saying something that the aforesaid mess will never petition the Horse Guards to put on their regimental colors; and here I am—”
With these words the major gulped down a full goblet of wine, and once more resumed his walk through the room. I shall not attempt to record the feelings which agitated me during the major’s recital. In one rapid glance I saw the aim of my vindictive enemy. My honor, not my life, was the object he sought for; and ten thousand times more than ever did I pant for the opportunity to confront him in a deadly combat.
“Charley,” said O’Shaughnessy, at length, placing his hand upon my shoulder, “you must get to bed now. Nothing more can be done to-night in any way. Be assured of one thing, my boy,—I’ll not desert you; and if that assurance can give you a sound sleep, you’ll not need a lullaby.”