"Why did you suffer Pilton to refuse the challenge? Was it not delivered in proper form? and did you not assure him that there was no alternative?"
"It was with difficulty," replied my second, "that I could induce him to receive your note, and when he informed me of his refusal to fight, I called him a coward, and threw a glass of water into his face. Provoked to some spirit by the grossness of my insult, he struck me with a cane; I aimed a pistol at his bosom which unfortunately flashed; and he terminated my visit, by caning and kicking me down stairs. I am more deeply insulted than you are. What shall I do? How shall I act to obtain satisfaction?"
My second's reception added more gall to my wounded pride, and I resolved to coerce Pilton into a fight, by attacking him, whenever we should meet. I crushed his letter with my heel, and, throwing it into the fire, I watched it twisting and crackling amid the blaze. Ere it had wasted itself into ashes, Arthur Ludwell, almost breathless, entered my room.
"I feel deeply, dear Lionel," said he taking my hand, "for your situation, and regret that you have not sent for me, and demanded my assistance. I have waited on Pilton, who declares that he will make an apology for his blow, if you will say that you were ignorant of his presence in the room, when the toast was pledged. All who have heard of the affray know very well, that this was the fact; for you would not wantonly wound that exquisite sensibility which a brother alone can feel. It would be honorable on your part to express the truth, and it is magnanimous in Pilton to offer his reconciliation."
"And am I then so degraded, so contemptible, and so humble, that you can thus cruelly taunt me, and, with the harlotry of insidious friendship, counsel me to vilify my name, and commit a debasing suicide on my own character? Must I make an apology to a brute—one who is a disgrace to manhood's spirit—and who has rotted into life, on the dunghill of selfishness? Must I succumb to him, whom I have hated with long, unbroken, and relentless abhorrence? Must I be deaf to that fearful curse with which his malice blighted the freshness of my boyhood—which burnt on the tablet of memory, and graven in letters of blood, now agonizes my brain, and swells through my heart? Must I be recreant to my name, and family—forget that blow which will ever tingle on my cheek, and basely creep through life a reptile coward? Take back your treacherous friendship, if this be its infamy, and remember, Mr. Ludwell, that in one moment you have crushed every feeling of affection, and on its ruins, have arisen an eternal contempt for your duplicity, and a damning scorn for your character."
"Hear me, dear Lionel!" said he, bursting into tears, "and forgive that advice which sprung from a heart tenderly alive to every thing connected with your interest. Control your rage, and listen to the voice of that friend who will sacrifice life, and surrender every thing he has on earth, for your reputation. Pardon the intrusion of my counsel, and I will forgive your suspicions. Come, give me your hand, and let me not believe that you have a bad heart."
"What right sir! have you to allude to my heart, whatever it may be?—no imputation shall be cast on it, by a weeping coward. I shall hold you answerable," said I quitting the room—"for the baseness of your insinuation, and I can assure you that an ocean of hypocritical tears will not protect you."
So soon as I could procure a pen, I addressed a cruel and fiend-like letter to Arthur, demanding an humble apology—and an explicit disavowal of his insult, and in the event of his refusal, my second was authorised to make a speedy arrangement. "Let him not (concluded my letter) see your womanly accomplishments, for he is prepared to scorn the weakness, and loathe the duplicity of your tears."
The same second whom Pilton's attack had maddened into a demoniac rage for blood, bore my challenge to Arthur; and when he returned, I saw his eye kindled into animation at the hope of a certain fight. "Here is a letter for you! Ludwell is true game. You cannot retract your challenge, and he will be forced to meet you! I will clean the pistols, while you write family letters and starve; for the odds are against you, if you dine or eat any thing." While he busied himself in searching for the pistols, I opened and read with feelings of stern contempt, the letter of Arthur.
My dear Lionel,—Take back your challenge, and do not force me to meet you in combat. I cannot refuse it, for I have not firmness of mind to do an act which my reason suggests, and my heart approves. I am afraid of that public opinion which would execrate me as a coward, and trample me into infamy, ere I had stept into manhood. In spite of your unkind letter, I still love you with the candor and truth of a boy's heart, and I think now more deeply of the innocent hours of our early days, when friendship united us, and sincerity hallowed the union. You know that I cannot make an apology under a threat. Retract it, and I will humble myself, if by such means I can regain your wonted affection.