Had my father been in a cooler mood, he could not have failed to remark how much deeper was the interest Fagan took in the story of his first meeting with my mother than in all the circumstances of the duel. So far as it was safe,—further than it would have been so at any other moment,—the Grinder cross-questioned my father as to her birth, the manner of her education, and the position she held before her marriage.
“This is all beside the matter,” cried my father, at last, impatiently. “I am now to think what is best to be done here. Shall I give myself up at once?—And why not, Fagan?” added he, abruptly, interrogating the look of the other.
“For two sufficient reasons, sir: first, that you would be needlessly exposing yourself to great peril; and, secondly, you would certainly be exposing another to great—” He stopped and faltered, for there was that in my father's face that made the utterance of a wrong word dangerous.
“Take care what you say, Master Tony; for, however selfish you may deem me, I have still enough of heart left to consider those far worthier of thought than myself.”
“And yet, sir, the fact is so, whether I speak it or not,” said Fagan. “Once let this affair come before a public tribunal, and what is there that can be held back from the prying impertinence of the world? And I see no more reason why you should peril life than risk all that makes life desirable.”
“But what or where is all this peril, Fagan? You talk as if I had been committing a murder.”
“It is precisely the name they would give it in the indictment, sir,” said the other, boldly. “Nay, hear me out, Mr. Carew. Were I to tell the adventure of last night as the bare facts reveal it, who would suggest the possibility of its being a duel? Think of the place—the hour—the solitude—the mere accident of the meeting! Oh, no, sir; duels are not fought in this fashion.”
“You are arguing against yourself, Tony. You have convinced me that there is but one course open. I must surrender myself!”
“Think well of it first, Mr. Carew,” said Fagan, drawing his chair closer, and speaking in a lower tone. “We must not let any false delicacy deceive us. There never was a case of this kind yet that did not less depend upon its own merits than on fifty things over which one has no control. The temper of the judge—the rank in life of the jury—the accidental tone of public opinion at the moment—the bias of the press: these are the agencies to be thought of. When Grogan Hamilton was tried for shooting John Adair in the mess-room at Carlow, his verdict was pronounced before the jury was empanelled!”
“I never heard of that case,” said my father, anxiously.