"Anything else in the world, Sargent," the old man answered brokenly. "Anything else I would do for you."
"There is nothing else that matters," Sargent answered dryly, turning away and reaching for his hat.
"You will come for me in the morning—at what time?"
Judge Houston rested against the table, watching Sargent's every movement intently.
"At four o'clock. The sun rises at five now. I will make all arrangements with the ferry man to take us over to the Louisiana side." He stopped abruptly and looked at the old man standing as firm and as steady as a piece of granite. "Somehow I feel the incongruity of you going with me more forcibly now than ever. Won't it tell against you? Won't it cause some loss of dignity to your position? You said you had always disapproved of duels. It is too much that you are giving up for me. It may be that I shall pass out of your life to-morrow, and for the few months that we have been together—it seems too much. I know I've disappointed you—some day perhaps you'll understand my reasons. Somehow, though, I couldn't help it—I must be deformed in mind as in body!"
The old gentleman made a step toward him, and steadied Sargent's trembling figure with his firm arms.
"When you hear what I have done to-night," he continued, brokenly evading the keen blue eyes bent upon him, "I believe you will understand."
Felix Houston drew Sargent closer to him. His firm arm was about the young fellow's shoulders, and he was reading his face intently for some meaning to the last words.
"Sargent, boy—look at me—-what do you mean?"
Suddenly Sargent straightened himself and answered the other's look firmly.