Part 36 (1/2)

No one was there when we arrived, and we paced to and fro together to keep in exercise, talking in low voices, and beguiling our agitation by confining our thoughts to a narrow channel. The sod was cool and soft to our tread, and the smell of the leaves was pleasant to our nostrils. As the sky whitened above the silent trees, and the gray light penetrated to the gra.s.sy turf at our feet, Phil quoted softly the line from Grey's Elegy in which the phrase of ”incense-breathing morn” occurs; and from that he went to certain parts of Milton's ”L'Allegro” and then to Shakespeare's songs, ”When Daisies Pied” and ”Under the Greenwood Tree.”

”'Faith,” said he, breaking off from the poetry, ”'tis a marvel how content I feel! You would not believe it, the serene happiness that has come over me. 'Tis easy to explain, though: I have adjusted my affairs, provided for my wife, left nothing in confusion or disorder, and am as ready for death as for life. I feel at last responsible to no one; free to accept whatever fate I may incur; clear of burdens.

The great thing, man, is to have one's debts paid, one's obligations discharged: then death or life matters little, and the mere act of breathing fresh air is a joy unspeakable.”

We now descried the figures of Falconer, Idsleigh, and a third gentleman, approaching under the trees. Civil greetings pa.s.sed as they came up, and Falconer overwent the demands of mere courtesy so far as to express himself upon the coolness and sweetness of the morning. But he was scrutinising Philip curiously the while, as if there were some reason why he should be less indifferent regarding this antagonist than he had shown himself regarding Tom Faringfield and me.

The princ.i.p.als removed their hats, coats, and waistcoats. As they were not booted, but appeared in stockings and low shoes, they made two fine and supple figures to look upon. The formalities between Mr.

Idsleigh and me were as brief as possible. Falconer chose his sword with a pretence of scarce looking at it, Philip gave his the usual examination, and the two men stood on guard.

There was a little wary play at first, while each sought an inkling of the other's method. Then some livelier work, in which they warmed themselves and got their muscles into complete facility, followed upon Phil's pretending to lose his guard. All this was but overture, and it came to a stop for a short pause designed as preliminary to the real duel. Both were now perspiring, and breathing into their lungs deep draughts of air. Falconer's expression showed that he had recognised better fencing in Phil's work than he had thought to find; but Phil's face conveyed no such surprise, for he had counted upon an adversary possessed of the first skill.

'Twas Falconer who began what we all felt was to be the serious part of the combat. Phil parried the thrust neatly; made a feint, but, instantly recovering, availed himself of his opponent's counter movement, and sank his point fair into Falconer's left breast. The English captain tumbled instantly to the ground. The swiftness of the thing startled us. Idsleigh and his medical companion stared in amazement, wondering that the fallen man should lie so still. It took a second or two for that which their eyes had informed them, to penetrate to their understanding. But Philip and I knew that the lunge had pierced the heart, and that the accomplished Lovelace on the ground would charm no more women.

'Twas only when we were hastening back to our hackney-coach, that Philip trembled. Then for a few moments his teeth chattered as if he were taken with a chill, and his face was deathly pale.

”'Tis terrible,” he said, in an awed tone, ”to kill a man this way.

'Tis not like in war. On a morning like this, in the civil manner of gentlemen, to make of such a marvellous living, thinking, feeling machine a poor heap of senseless flesh and bone that can only rot:--and all in the time of a sword-thrust!”

”Tut!” said I, ”the world is the better for the riddance. Think of Tom, and all else!”

”I know it,” said Phil, conquering his weakness. ”And such men know what they risk when they break into the happiness of others. I could not have lived in peace while he lived. Well, that is all behind us now. Yonder is our coach.”

We got in, and were driven to the tavern in Dean Street. We there dismissed the coach, and Philip started afoot for the inn, in the Strand, where our post-chaise was to be in readiness. I was to join him there after completing the letter and leaving it at Madge's lodgings, Philip using the mean time in attending to the posting of certain letters of his own. We had no baggage to impede us, as we intended to purchase new wearables in France: we had, on the previous day, provided ourselves with money and letters of credit. My affairs had been so arranged that neither my wife nor my mother could be pecuniarily embarra.s.sed by my absence. Philip's American pa.s.sport, used upon our former travels, was still in force and had been made to include a travelling companion. So all was smoothed for our flight.

Taking my letter to the house in which Madge lived, I asked for her maid, telling the house servant I would wait at the street door: for, as I did not wish to meet any of the three ladies, I considered it safer to entrust the letter to Madge's own woman. The girl came down; but I had no sooner handed her the letter, and told her what to do with it, than I heard Madge's voice in the hall above. She had come out to see who wanted her maid, suspecting some trick of Falconer's; and, leaning over the stair-rail, had recognised my voice.

”What is it, Bert? Why don't you come up?”

”I can't--I'm in haste,” I blundered. ”Good morning!”

”But wait! What's wrong? A moment, I entreat! Nay, you shall--!” And at that she came tripping swiftly down the stairs. The maid, embarra.s.sed, handed her the letter. Without opening it, she advanced to me, while I was wildly considering the propriety of taking to my heels; and demanded:

”What is it you had to write? Sure 'tis your own hand. Why can't you tell me?”

”Not so loud,” I begged. ”My mother and f.a.n.n.y mustn't know till I am gone.”

”Gone!” With this she tore open the letter, and seemed to grasp its general sense in a glance. ”A duel! I suspected--from what Philip said. Oh, my G.o.d, was he--?” She scanned the writing wildly, but in her excitement it conveyed nothing to her mind.

”Captain Falconer will not annoy you again,” I said, ”and Philip and I must go to France for awhile. Good-bye! Let mother and f.a.n.n.y see the letter in half an hour.”

”But wait--thank G.o.d, he's not hurt!--France, you say? How? Which road?”

She was holding my coat lapel, to make me stay and tell her. So I answered:

”By post to Hastings; there we shall get the Doughty boys to--”

At this, there broke in another voice from above stairs--that of f.a.n.n.y:

”Is that Bert, Madge dear?”