priest of his acquaintance.

"Father," said he, "this afternoon or to-morrow I may be in
circumstances of danger."

"What danger is this?" asked the priest.

"There is a man whom I may be compelled, in defence of my honour, to
challenge to a duel."

"To approach the Sacrament in such a frame of mind," said the old man,
"is not to prepare yourself for danger. For to come to confession with a
determination of taking vengeance is to put an obstacle to the grace of
the Sacrament. You must preserve your honour by some other way. Indeed,
the honour you think to preserve by this is not real honour, but merely
the estimation of bad men founded on bad principles."

"I know," said Orange, hotly; "it is impossible, however, to withdraw
now."

"If you should be beaten," returned the other, who had been in the army
himself as a youth, and could comprehend the worldly view of the
situation, "if you should be beaten, what becomes of the honour you wish
to defend? And if you should be killed in that state of soul in which
you go to the duel, you will go straight to hell and everlasting shame."

"I implore you, Father, to pray for me, and to hear my confession, if
you possibly can."

"Certainly, I cannot hear you," said the priest. "But this is what I
will do. Wear this _Agnus Dei_, and perhaps God will have mercy on you
for the sake of this, and afford you time for penance. Understand,
however, I do not give it to you in order to encourage you in your bad
purpose, but that you may wear it with all reverence and respect, and
perhaps be moved to obedience."

Robert thanked him, accepting the gift in a right spirit. His self-will,
however, was aroused. He had determined to fight Castrillon, and fight
he would.

CHAPTER XXI

Sara awoke that same morning with a foreboding heart. She wrote a letter
to Reckage postponing his call, and another to Pensee Fitz Rewes, asking
her to be at home that afternoon. At half-past two the young lady drove
up, in her brougham, to the widow's door in Curzon Street. The blinds
were down, and the house gave every indication that its owner was not in
London. Sara, however, was admitted, and Pensee received her in a little
room, hung with lilac chintz and full of porcelain, at the back of the
house. Pensee, wearing a loose blue robe, seemed over-excited and
sad--with that sadness which seems to fall upon the soul as snow upon
water. She was reclining on the sofa, reading a worn copy of Law