know the fire and passion of my
nature; and you know the resolution with which I have heretofore
struggled against it. I am inexperienced--unused to the ways of the
world--unaccustomed to the artifices of wicked men. Debarred as I am
from male society, what wonder that, in the company of a male, I should
be overcome by the weakness of a woman's nature? Forgive me, Chevalier,
I implore you--indeed, my honor is preserved; your timely intervention
prevented the consummation of my ruin."

"Sister," rejoined Duvall, gazing at her with a softened aspect--"I _do_
forgive you, your honor being still undefiled; I know the power of your
passions, notwithstanding your many excellent qualities; and I can
scarcely wonder at your momentary weakness, when an accomplished villain
tempts you to ruin. Hereafter, dear sister, govern those unruly passions
with a rod of iron; remember the grandeur of our ancestral house and
name, and let that remembrance be your safeguard.--As for you, sir,"
continued the Chevalier, turning savagely towards Mr. Tickels, while
his magnificent features grew dark with terrible rage--"as for you, sir,
you have betrayed my confidence and abused my hospitality; I introduced
you into this house, supposing you to be a man of honor and a friend.
You have attempted the seduction of my sister; you have basely tried to
take advantage of the weakness of an inexperienced and unsuspecting
woman; but more than all this, sir--and my blood boils with fury at the
thought!--you would have tarnished the unstained name and honor of a
kingly race! Look you, sir, these wrongs demand instant reparation--one
or both of us must die. Here are two pistols; take your choice; place
yourself at the distance of six paces from me, and let impartial Fate
decide the issue!"

"But, my dear sir," cried the old villain, almost beside himself with
terror--"I can't--I don't want to be killed--my God, sir, I never fired
a pistol in all my life. Can't we settle this matter in some other way?
Will not _money_--"

"Money!" exclaimed me Chevalier, scornfully--"fool, can money heal a
wounded honor, or wipe away the odium of your insults? Choose your
weapon, sir!"

"Mercy--mercy!" cried the dastard, falling on his knees before his stern
antagonist--"I am rich, let me depart in safety, and I'll give you a
cheque for a hundred--"

The Chevalier cocked a pistol.

"Five hundred--," groaned Tickels.

The pistol was raised, and pointed at his head.