Long years ago, when Mrs. Winans was a fair young girl, Bruce Conway had loved her with all the passion of his young manhood.
His young wife who had died had been Mrs. Winans' dearest friend.
How like a sequel of fate it seemed that their two children should love and wed!
The idea pleased Bruce Conway. It was a recompense for all the sufferings of the past; it was romantic to the last degree.
He did not rest well that night. The revival of the past made him restless and nervous. His sleep was haunted by restless dreams, and at daydawn he was awake after a most unrefreshing night.
Going out for a walk he soon stood by the side of the flowing river, his eyes fixed on the eastern sky now glowing with the rose and gold of dawn. Suddenly a shaft of fiery light pierced the horizon and the glorious orb of day appeared.
At that moment two pistol shots, fired simultaneously at some distance away, rang in his ears. He turned about quickly. At a little distance there was a thick grove of pines. He ran forebodingly to the spot.
Voices came to his ears. One said pityingly: "It is a fatal wound. Tennant, you had better fly."
Then the scene of a duel burst on Conway's sight.
Surgeons and seconds were grouped about in a green leafy glade. Upon the grass lay Earle Winans, his eyes closed, his face pale, blood spurting from his breast. He had fired into the air, but his adversary had not been so generous.