Hearts Afire - By J. D. Rawden Page 0,12

road. For the elder, judging his son by the impetuosity of his own youthful temper, expected him to go directly to Charlotte Morgan's house. But there were qualities in Sir Edward which his father forgot to take into consideration, and their influence was to suggest to the young man how inappropriate a visit to Charlotte would be at that time. Indeed, he did not much desire it. He was very angry with Charlotte. He was sure that she understood his entire devotion to her. He could not see any necessity to set it forth as particularly as a legal contract, in certain set phrases and with conventional ceremonies.

But his father's sarcastic advice annoyed him, and he wanted time to fully consider his ways. He was no yellow coward; he was a fine swordsman, and he felt that it would be a real joy to stand with a drawn rapier between himself and his rival. But what if revenge cost him too much? What if he slew Harleigh, and had to leave his love and his home, and his fine business prospects? To win Charlotte and to marry her, in the face of the man whom he felt that he detested, would not that be the best of all “satisfactions”?

He walked about the streets, discussing these points with himself, till the shops all closed, and on the stoops of the houses in Brooklyn there were merry parties of gossiping belles and beaux. As he returned to home. Half a dozen gentlemen were standing before the King's Arms Tavern, discussing some governmental statement in the “Weekly Mercury;” but though they asked him to stop, and enlighten them on some legal point, he excused himself for that night, and went toward Harleigh Daly's. He had suddenly resolved upon a visit. Why should he put off until the tomorrow what he might begin that night?

Still debating with himself, he came to a narrow road which ran to the street, along the southern side of Harleigh Daly's house. It was only a trodden path used by locals, and made by usage through the unenclosed ground. But coming swiftly up it, as if to detain him, was Harleigh Daly. The two men looked at each other defiantly; and Sir Edward said with a cold, meaning emphasis,—

“At your service, sir.”

“Sir Edward, at your service,”—and touching his sword,—“to the very hilt, sir.”

“Sir, yours to the same extremity.”

Harleigh Daly yawned delicately and took a pinch of snuff.

“I fear you not; I very much fear you not. I would advise you to stay away from Charlotte Morgan.” Sir Edward leaned toward Harleigh.

“Sir Edward, you are a little late;” and Harleigh pushed aside his embroidered coat in order to exhibit to Sir Edward the bow of orange ribbon beneath it.

“I will stain it crimson in your blood,” said Sir Edward, passionately.

“Until that day, I have the felicity of wearing it;” and with an offensively deep salute, Harleigh terminated the interview.

“Love and a crown no rivalship can bear.

Love, love! Thou sternly dost thy power maintain,

And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign.”

The next morning Sir Edward's first emotion was not so much one of anger as of exultation. The civilization of the Van Heemskirk's was scarce a century old; and behind them were generations of fierce men, whose hands had been on their daggers for a word or a look. “I shall have him at my sword's point;” that was what he kept saying to himself as he headed toward Charlotte Morgan's house. The front-gate stood open; and he walked through it to the back-stoop, where Joris Morgan was smoking.

Charlotte sat upon the steps of the stoop. Her head was in her hand, her eyes red with weeping, her whole attitude one of desponding sorrow. But, at this hour, Sir Edward was indifferent to adverse circumstances. He was moving in that exultation of spirit which may be simulated by the first rapture of good wine, but which is only genuine when the soul takes entire possession of the man, and makes him for some rare, short interval lord of himself, and contemptuous of all fears and doubts and difficulties. He never noticed that Joris was less kind than usual; but touching Charlotte, to arouse her attention, said, “Come with me down the garden, my love.”

She looked at him wonderingly. His words and manner were strange and potent; and, although she had just been assuring herself that she would resist his advances on every occasion, she rose at his request and gave