rom the wild flowers that grew around them. Such was the picture
that lay on one side of me. On the other was the long street of a little
town, on which yet the shadows of night were sleeping; the windows were
closed; not a smoke-wreath rose from any chimney, but all was still and
peaceful.

In my little parlour I found the good priest and the Major fast asleep
in their chairs, pretty much in the same attitudes I had left them in
some hours before. The fire had died away; the square decanter of whisky
was emptied to its last drop, and the kettle lay pensively on one side,
like some shipwrecked craft high and dry upon the shore. I looked at my
watch; it was but four o'clock. Our meeting was appointed for half-past
five; so I crept noiselessly back to my room, not sorry to have half
an hour to myself of undisturbed reflection. When I had finished my
dressing, I threw up the sash and sprang out into the garden. It was
a wild, uncultivated spot; but still there was something of beauty in
those old trees whose rich blossoms scented the air, while the rank
weeds of many a gay and gaudy hue shot up luxuriantly about their
trunks, the pink marsh-mallow and the taper foxglove mingling their
colours with the sprayey meadowsweet and the wild sweet-brier. There
was an air of solitude in the neglect around me that seemed to suit the
habit of my soul; and I strolled along from one walk to another, lost in
my own thoughts.

There were many things at a moment like that I would fain have written,
fain have said; but so it is, in the wealth of our emotions we can give
nothing, and I could not bring myself to write to my friends even to say
farewell Although I felt that in every stage of this proceeding I had
nothing to reproach myself with, this duel being thrust on me by one who
had singled me out for his hatred, yet I saw as its result nothing but
the wreck of all my hopes. Already had _she_ intimated how strong was
her father's attachment to his nephew, and with an expressive fear
cautioned me against any collision with him. How vain are all our
efforts, how fruitless are all our endeavours, to struggle against
the current of our fate. We may stem for a short time the full tide of
fortune, we may breast with courage high and spirit fierce the rough
billows as they break upon us, but we are certain to succumb in the end.
With some men failure is a question of fear; some want the persevering
courage to drag on amid trials and difficult