o peer. There was no bright speck in its unplumbable
depths: unless Major Flint died suddenly without revealing the
challenge he had sent last night, and the promptitude with which its
recipient had disappeared rather than face his pistol, he could not
frame any grouping of events which would make it possible for him to
come back to Tilling again, for he would either have to fight (and this
he was quite determined not to do) or be pointed at by the finger of
scorn as the man who had refused to do so, and this was nearly as
unthinkable as the other. Bitterly he blamed himself for having made a
friend (and worse than that, an enemy) of one so obsolete and
old-fashioned as to bring duelling into modern life.... As far as he
could be glad of anything he was glad that he had taken a single, not a
return ticket.

He turned his eyes away from the blackness of the future and let his
mind dwell on the hardly less murky past. Then, throwing up his hands,
he buried his face in them with a hollow groan. By some miserable
forgetfulness he had left the challenge on his chimney-piece, where his
housemaid would undoubtedly find and read it. That would explain his
absence far better than the telegraphic instructions he had left on his
table. There was no time to go back for it now, even if he could have
faced the risk of being seen by the Major, and in an hour or two the
whole story, via Withers, Janet, etc., would be all over Tilling.

It was no use then thinking of the future nor of the past, and in order
to anchor himself to the world at all and preserve his sanity he had to
confine himself to the present. The minutes, long though each tarried,
were slipping away and provided his train was punctual, the passage of
five more of these laggards would see him safe. The news-boy took down
the shutters of his stall, a porter quenched the expiring lamp, and
Puffin began to listen for the rumble of the approaching train. It
stayed three minutes here: if up to time it would be in before a couple
more minutes had passed.

There came from the station-yard outside the sound of heavy footsteps
running. Some early traveller like himself was afraid of missing the
train. The door burst open, and, streaming with rain and panting for
breath, Major Flint stood at the entry. Puffin looked wildly round to
see whether he could escape, still perhaps unobserved, on to the
platform, but it was too late, for their eyes met.

In that instant of abject terr