wound in the throat, his second interfered, and proposed a
reconciliation. Sir Edward angrily refused to listen. He declared that he “had
not come to enact a farce;” and then, happening to glance at the ribbon on Harleigh's breast, he swore furiously, “He would make his
way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just anger.”
Up to this point, there had been in Harleigh's mind a latent disinclination to slay Sir Edward. After it, he flung away every
kind memory; and the fight was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until
there ensued one of those close locks which it was evident nothing but “the key
of the body could open.” In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of
both men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with
the force.
Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both, bleeding and
exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that moment Elder Van Heemskirk and Joris Morgan, with
their attendants, reached the spot.
Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men, — Joris Morgan facing Harleigh , and
the Elder Van Heemskirk his son. “Sir Edward, you
dear lad, you born fool, give me your weapon, sir!” But there was no need to
say another word. Sir Edward fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall
a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Harleigh's breast; for Harleigh had also dropped fainting to the
ground, bleeding from at least half a dozen wounds. Then one of Van Heemskirk's young men, who had probably defined the cause
of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made as if he would
pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson in Harleigh's blood.
But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away.
“To touch it would be the vilest theft,” he said. “His own it is. With his life
he has bought it.”
“ I
know I felt Love's face
Pressed
on my neck, with moan of pity and grace,
Till both our heads were in his aureole .”
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH.
The news of the duel spread with the proverbial rapidity of evil news. At
the doors of all the public houses, in every open shop, on every private stoop,
and at the street-corners, people were soon discussing the event, with such
additions and comments as their imaginations and prejudices suggested. One
party insisted that lawyer to be Sir Edward was dead; another, that it was the
young man Harleigh Daly; a third, that both died as
they were being carried from the ground.
Joris Morgan, who had lingered to the last moment
at the scene of the fight, heard the story from many a lip as he went home. He
was bitterly indignant at Charlotte. He felt betrayed, indeed, that she had not
ended this triangle of love. How wicked Charlotte had been not to remember that
she had a family whose spotless name would be tarnished by her love affairs! He
was hot with haste and anger as he walked his house.
Lysbet Morgan on the front-stoop, looking
anxiously down the road. She was aware that Elder Van Heemskirk had called for her husband, and she had heard from the wagging tongues that
they had left town in unexplained haste. At first, the incident did not trouble
her much. Perhaps one of the valuable Norman horses was sick, or there was an
unexpected ship in, or an unusually large order. Lysbet Morgan only worried because supper must be delayed an hour, and that delay
would leave the supper stone cold. As Lysbet Morgan
was on the front-stoop watching for her husband, who was becoming dreadfully
late; and, like many other loving women, she could think of nothing good which
might have detained him, but her heart was full only of evil apprehensions. It
was then. She thought the hour would never come. Eagerly she watched her
husband coming down the road; certainty it would be better than such cruel fear
and suspense.
“Where is Charlotte?” That was the Father’s first question, and he called
her through the house. From the closed best
reconciliation. Sir Edward angrily refused to listen. He declared that he “had
not come to enact a farce;” and then, happening to glance at the ribbon on Harleigh's breast, he swore furiously, “He would make his
way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just anger.”
Up to this point, there had been in Harleigh's mind a latent disinclination to slay Sir Edward. After it, he flung away every
kind memory; and the fight was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until
there ensued one of those close locks which it was evident nothing but “the key
of the body could open.” In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of
both men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with
the force.
Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both, bleeding and
exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that moment Elder Van Heemskirk and Joris Morgan, with
their attendants, reached the spot.
Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men, — Joris Morgan facing Harleigh , and
the Elder Van Heemskirk his son. “Sir Edward, you
dear lad, you born fool, give me your weapon, sir!” But there was no need to
say another word. Sir Edward fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall
a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Harleigh's breast; for Harleigh had also dropped fainting to the
ground, bleeding from at least half a dozen wounds. Then one of Van Heemskirk's young men, who had probably defined the cause
of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made as if he would
pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson in Harleigh's blood.
But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away.
“To touch it would be the vilest theft,” he said. “His own it is. With his life
he has bought it.”
“ I
know I felt Love's face
Pressed
on my neck, with moan of pity and grace,
Till both our heads were in his aureole .”
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH.
The news of the duel spread with the proverbial rapidity of evil news. At
the doors of all the public houses, in every open shop, on every private stoop,
and at the street-corners, people were soon discussing the event, with such
additions and comments as their imaginations and prejudices suggested. One
party insisted that lawyer to be Sir Edward was dead; another, that it was the
young man Harleigh Daly; a third, that both died as
they were being carried from the ground.
Joris Morgan, who had lingered to the last moment
at the scene of the fight, heard the story from many a lip as he went home. He
was bitterly indignant at Charlotte. He felt betrayed, indeed, that she had not
ended this triangle of love. How wicked Charlotte had been not to remember that
she had a family whose spotless name would be tarnished by her love affairs! He
was hot with haste and anger as he walked his house.
Lysbet Morgan on the front-stoop, looking
anxiously down the road. She was aware that Elder Van Heemskirk had called for her husband, and she had heard from the wagging tongues that
they had left town in unexplained haste. At first, the incident did not trouble
her much. Perhaps one of the valuable Norman horses was sick, or there was an
unexpected ship in, or an unusually large order. Lysbet Morgan only worried because supper must be delayed an hour, and that delay
would leave the supper stone cold. As Lysbet Morgan
was on the front-stoop watching for her husband, who was becoming dreadfully
late; and, like many other loving women, she could think of nothing good which
might have detained him, but her heart was full only of evil apprehensions. It
was then. She thought the hour would never come. Eagerly she watched her
husband coming down the road; certainty it would be better than such cruel fear
and suspense.
“Where is Charlotte?” That was the Father’s first question, and he called
her through the house. From the closed best
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