a kind of worship; but the service is na unpleasant, quite the contrary. Did you see Harleigh Daly?”
“We met near Broadway, and exchanged civilities.”
“A good thing to exchange.
“I see you are casting up the kirk accounts. Can I help you, father?”
“I have everything ready for the consistory. Sir Edward, what is the good of us speaking of this and that, and thinking that we are deceiving each other? I am very anxious about affairs between Harleigh Daly and yourself; and I'm afraid you'll be coming to hot words, maybe to blows. My lad, my dear lad! You are the Joseph of my sons; you are the joy of your mother's life. For our sake, keep a calm soul, and don’t let a fool provoke you to break our hearts, and maybe send you into God's presence uncalled and unblessed.
“Father, put yourself in my place. How would you feel toward Harleigh Daly?”
“Well, I'll allow that, I would not feel kindly. I dont feel kindly to him, even in my own place.”
“As you desire it, we will speak plainly to each other about this subject. You know his proud and hasty temper; you know also that I am more like yourself than like Moses in the way of meekness. Now, if Harleigh Daly insults me, what course would you advise me to adopt?”
“I wouldn’t give him the chance to insult you. I would keep out of his way. There is nothing unusual or discreditable in taking a journey to Boston, to look after the welfare of your brother Alexander.”
“Oh, indeed, sir, I cannot leave my affairs for an insolent and ungrateful fool! I ask your advice for the ordinary way of life, not for the way that cowardice or fear dictates. If without looking for him, or avoiding him, we meet, and a quarrel is inevitable, what then, father?”
“Ay, well, in that case, God prevent it! But in such a strait, my lad, it is better to give the insult than to take it.”
“You know what must follow?”
“Who doesn’t know? Blood, if not murder. Sir Edward, you are a wise and prudent lad; now, is not the sword of the law sharper than the rapier of honor?”
“Law has no remedy for the wrongs men of honor redress with the sword. A man may call me every shameful name; but unless I can show some actual loss in money or money's worth, I have no redress. And suppose that I tried it, and that after long sufferance and delays I got my demands, pray sir, tell me, how can offences which have flogged a man's most sacred feelings be atoned for by something to put in the pocket?”
“Society, Sir Edward”—
“Society, father, always convicts and punishes the man who takes an insult on view, without waiting for his indictment or trial.”
“There ought to be a law, Sir Edward.”
“No law will administer itself, sir. The statute-book is a dead letter when it conflicts with public opinion. There is not a week passes but you may see that for yourself, father. If a man is insulted, he must protect his honor; and he will do so until the law is able to protect him better than his own strength.”
“There is another way—a more Christian way”—
“I am to turn the other cheek.”
“I didn’t say the like of that, Sir Edward. But I'm in such strait. But I'll trust you to your prudence.”
“That is a good consolation, father.”
“It is all that I can do.”
“In such comfortable assurance, sir, I think we may say good-night. I have business early in the morning, and may not wait for your company, if you will excuse me so far.”
“Right; very right, Sir Edward. The dawn has gold in its hand. I used to be an early worker myself; but I'm an ald man now, and may claim some privileges. Good-night, Sir Edward, and a good-morning to follow it.”
Sir Edward then lit his candle; and, not forgetting that courteous salute which the young then always rendered to honorable age, he went slowly upstairs, feeling suddenly a great weariness and despair. If Charlotte had only been true to him! He was sure, then, that he could have fought almost joyfully any pretender to her favor. But he was deserted by the girl whom he had loved all her sweet life. He was betrayed by a man who had crept in unaware, compelled to hazard a life opening up with fair hopes of honor and distinction.
In the calm of his own chamber, through the silent,