Luke, an old servant attached to the plantation, came in and laid fresh logs on the fire, and then went out again.
But Le, absorbed in his argument with his own conscience, never noticed the man’s entrance or his exit.
“The die is cast now,” he said, in conclusion, “and I must abide the issue. The challenge is sent. The scoundrel is a soldier, and he will accept it! I must meet him! And, if I kill him, I must take the consequences in this world and—in the next!”
Martha, the housekeeper, came in with a large tray on which she had arranged her master’s supper. She set it down on a side table, while she removed the books and stationary from the center table and spread a white cloth over it. Then she set out his supper, and said:
“Do, please, young marster, try to eat somefin’. That racket at the church seems to hev upset yer so that yer look downright ill.”
Le was feverish and thirsty, and he drank cup after cup of tea, nearly as fast as the housekeeper could pour it out. But he could not eat a morsel.
“’Deed, I’m feared yer gwine to have some sort of a fever, young marster! ’Deed, I am!” said Martha, as she began to clear the table, after finding all her persuasions fruitless to induce the young man to eat.
When the woman was gone, Le replaced all the paper, pens and ink upon the table again, and sat down, poor fellow, to write his “last will and testament.”
It was very short and plain. He left all his real estate and personal property to his three dear cousins, Odalite, Wynnette and Elva, daughters of his dear relative, Abel Force, of Mondreer, share and share alike, subject only to some trifling legacies to old servants and to a bequest of ten thousand dollars to his dear friend Roland Bayard, of Forest Rest; and he constituted Abel Force and Roland Bayard joint executors.
Next he wrote farewell letters to his friends and relatives.