“ ‘Take your place across the table,’ said I sternly to him, ‘put a pistol into his hands. Villain as he is, he is too miserable a coward to be shot down unresisting—though he would have granted me no such favor had the chance been his.’
“They placed him in his position. No words were spoken. Not many seconds elapsed before the word was given, and we both fired simultaneously. I felt a slight, sharp puncture in my side; and I knew I was wounded. But as the smoke wreathed away from before me, I beheld Conway leap toward the ceiling convulsively, and fall, the next instant, dead across the table. He had been shot through the heart. Isabel was AVENGED.
“I fled from Paris. I reached here, saw you, have adjusted my affairs under your supervision, and am dying of that wound.”
Reader, that night he expired.
D.
Philadelphia, December, 1840.
LANGUAGE OF THE WILD FLOWERS.
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BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, M. D.