"Yes," she said, in a low voice; "I heard carriage-wheels. What of that?"
"There is a rumour in the town that Leslie Travers is to fight a duel on Claverton Down—with that beast, Sir Maxwell Danby—this morning."
"I do not believe it is true," Caroline answered. "Hush, Alex!" for William Herschel called out: "Write! Attend!"
The necessary figures were jotted down, and then Caroline said:
"Do you think Leslie Travers was going off in that carriage?"
"I have no doubt of it. I shall follow and find out."
"Take care, Alex—do not get mixed up in any quarrel; and there is the new anthem of Spohr's at the Octagon this morning. You will be wanted."
"Well, what if I am?" Alexander said. "Surely, Caroline, the life or death of a friend is of more importance than an anthem?"
"You do not know that it is life or death; you are conjecturing. Yes, William, I am ready!"
This was characteristic of Caroline Herschel. It was not really that she had no human sympathies or affections; on the contrary, her love for her brother was absorbing, and she had but one aim—to soar with him to the unexplored regions of space; and to effect this, the business in hand, whether it was music, or mixing loam for the mould of the new tube, or in giving a lesson in singing, or in singing herself at a concert, was paramount with her. Such characters, persistent, and with single aims, are often misunderstood by natures like Alexander Herschel's, who love to skim the surface, and pass from one thing to another, as their mood changes.