CHAPTER XV.

THE DUEL.

Mr. Waring's old housekeeper was ill--a most unusual misfortune to befall her, and one which she could not at first either realize or believe. She struggled against this sudden malady with all the energy and obstinacy of her nature; but she was at length forced to take to her bed and let the fever have its course, while she grumbled and snarled at every mortal who approached, and gave the poor girl who was obliged to take care of her a precious life indeed.

But while the old lady lay snapping and rabid with fever, affairs in the house did not go on smoothly at all, and nervous Mr. Waring nearly fretted himself into a fever which almost equaled that which had taken such sharp hold of his rebellious housekeeper.

Margaret was busy with her own troubles; and, besides, she was affected with that horror of domestic matters, which, I am sorry to say, is so common among my youthful country-women, and entirely neglected to interest herself in the domestic annoyances that beset them.

In the mean time the servants ran riot below stairs, and, as several of them were new-comers, belonging to the Celtic race into the bargain, they took such advantage of the housekeeper's absence that it soon became doubtful whether they would condescend to prepare meals for any portion of the family except that which reigned in the kitchen.

Mr. Waring sent for Miss Chase to his room for consultation. The lady was all sweetness and affability, declared her willingness to do every thing in her power to restore the household to order, but more than hinted that Margaret would not permit her to interfere.

Of course the old gentleman was in a sad way, but poor Meg's health had become so delicate that he did not venture to speak with her upon the subject; and the only thing he could do was to listen favorably to any proposal which Miss Chase made.

"I will go down to town this very morning," she said, "and I am very certain that I shall return with a woman perfectly competent to take charge of your household."

When she saw how Mr. Waring brightened at that information, she added another touch of comfort:

"I have the address somewhere of a woman who once lived for a time with Mrs. Pierson. If I can find her, she will suit you admirably."

The matter was satisfactorily arranged. Mr. Waring began to look upon Sybil as a sort of guardian-angel; and she bade him good-morning with her sweetest smile to make preparations for her expedition.

Sybil returned from the city that night accompanied by a respectable elderly female, who set about her duties in such a quiet, understanding way that everybody was delighted and something like peace restored.

Of course the old housekeeper grumbled more than ever, and was prepared to consider the stranger the most abominable of her sex; but no one paid much attention, and, as every spasm of rage only increased her fever, and she was quite incapable of controlling her temper, there seemed every probability that placid Mrs. Brown would hold the reins of government in her chubby fingers for some time to come.

And now events began to thicken about that once cheerful house on the river, and those miserable young beings were urged forward to the last act of anger and injustice which should consummate their misery. The net which Sybil had woven had been slowly and securely drawn about them, and now the opportunity was offered which completed the work she had so skillfully arranged.

The estrangement between Laurence and Margaret was daily gaining strength. Laurence began really to believe that he hated her, and the fascination which Sybil had thrown about him became enthralling. He came to the house now merely to hold long, confidential conversations with her, and from every one he retired more completely bewildered and enslaved.

He had quarreled with Hinchley, although the young man remained at the house as his uncle's invited guest. He was deeply pained by the state of affairs, and still hoped to reunite his cousin and friend.

It might have been a fortnight after the installation of Mrs. Brown when Sybil and Laurence were walking in the shrubbery at some distance from the house.

They saw Hinchley pass down a neighboring path in full view of the spot where they stood, although he was unconscious of their presence. Laurence muttered bitter execrations against the intruder; and while Sybil was soothing him, they saw the new housekeeper go cautiously down the path and join Hinchley. She gave him a note and stole away again.

"I understand now," whispered Laurence. "She is made a medium of communication between that man and Margaret. She shall tell me the truth, or I will annihilate her."

He drew Sybil forward and stood directly in the path as Mrs. Brown approached. When she saw them, the woman started back with every evidence of fear and confusion; but Laurence grasped her roughly by the arm.

"You gave that man a note from Miss Margaret," he said.

The woman began to cry at once.

"Oh, sir, don't make me lose my place! I couldn't refuse the young lady! Do speak a word for me, Miss Chase. I mean to be faithful. I didn't mean any harm."

"And you have carried notes between them before?" demanded Laurence.

"I didn't know it was wrong--indeed I didn't. Tell him I am an honest woman, Miss Chase."

"Go into the house, Brown," said the lady, coldly. "I am disappointed in you."

Laurence released her arm, and she darted away wringing her hands in sad distress. Laurence made a step toward the place where Hinchley stood reading the letter with a look of doubt and astonishment.

"Stop," whispered Sybil. "What are you going to do?"

"Take that letter--know the truth."

She attempted to plead with him, but he pushed her aside and strode toward Hinchley. The young man looked up, startled at his unexpected approach, and made a movement to conceal the note in his hand.

"Give me that letter!" exclaimed Laurence, in a hoarse voice.

"A very singular demand, sir," returned Hinchley, coldly.

"I will have it--the proof of your treachery and hers--you miserable coward!"

He sprung forward, seized Hinchley in his infuriated grasp, and a short but severe struggle took place. At last, Laurence flung his opponent back and seized the note.

"Scoundrel!" exclaimed Hinchley. "Give back that paper."

"Never! I will read it!"

Sybil saw that she must interfere, or Laurence would not be permitted to open the sheet; so she hurried up with hysteric sobs, and threw her arms about Hinchley.

"No violence!" she sobbed. "Oh, don't quarrel, Mr. Hinchley, don't."

While he vainly tried to extricate himself from her hold, Laurence tore open the letter and read it. He would hardly have been human had he not given way to the storm of fury which swept over him.

The writing was Margaret's, the letter signed with her name, and it revealed the story of her wretchedness, her desire to free herself from her engagement, and her belief that she was loved by Hinchley. The note went on to say that he need have no scruples about seeking her hand, as she was determined never to marry Laurence.

The young man dropped the letter with a groan.

Sybil released Hinchley, whose anger seemed to have changed to pity at the sight of his former friend's distress.

"She never wrote it, Laurence," he exclaimed. "I would pledge my life on it."

"Who then?" he answered. "Is there another woman on earth brazen enough to have written it?"

"How can I tell? But I would stake my life that it is a forgery."

He glanced at Sybil; something in her attitude brought back his old suspicions, but they were so vague, her innocence in the present matter so apparent, that it would have seemed madness to have spoken of them. Again Laurence turned upon him most furiously, and hurled such terrible epithets and charges against him, that no man of courage could have endured them.

Sybil Chase left the two men pale with wrath, and rushed away, not frightened at what she had done, but believing it wiser for her to escape from the scene; for language had been employed on both sides that could only end in apologies or deadly violence. Hinchley was wrought to a pitch of frenzy nearly equal to that which convulsed Laurence.

He grasped eagerly at a defiance which fell from his opponent.

"When you will," he answered. "You will find me always ready to vindicate my honor."

"So be it," returned Laurence. "Before sunset to-night, let your life or mine pay the forfeit; we can not breathe the same air another day."

Before they parted it was settled--angrily settled--that two school friends, men who had been intimate and loving as brothers, should stand face to face, each opposed to his murderer. This is the true word. Call duelling the only resource of wounded honor if you will; it is murder, after all--murder the most atrocious, from its very coolness and premeditation.

Hinchley broke away abruptly, after having regained possession of the fatal letter, and Laurence rushed toward the house to find Margaret, and overwhelm her with his knowledge of her weakness and treachery.

It had been a dark, wretched day to the girl, passed between the sick chamber of her uncle and that of the old housekeeper. Mr. Waring had been seized with one of his violent attacks, and was lying dangerously