"I'll meet you now," cried Sibley, with a volley of oaths. "I want no cowardly subterfuge of Sunday." Stanton hesitated a moment, and then said decidedly: "No; I'm not a blackguard like yourself, and out of respect for the Sabbath and others I will have nothing more to do with you to-day; but I will meet you tomorrow as soon as it is light;" and Stanton turned away to avoid further provocation. Van Berg thus far had stood quietly to one side, but his face had that white, rigid aspect which indicates the rare but dangerous anger of men usually quiet and undemonstrative in their natures. "Now that you are through, Stanton, I have something to say concerning this affair," he began, in words that were as clean-cut and hard as steel. "If you propose to give this fellow a dog's whipping to-morrow, I will go with you and witness the well-deserved chastisement. But if you are intending a conventional duel, I'll have nothing to do with it, for two reasons. The first reason this fellow will not understand. Dueling is against my principles, and he knows nothing of principle. But even if I accepted the old and barbarous code, I should insist that a friend of mine should fight with a gentleman, and not a low blackguard." "You use that epithet again at your peril," hissed Sibley, advancing a step towards him. Van Berg made a gesture of contempt toward the speaker as he turned and said: "You understand me, Stanton; it is not from any lack of loyalty toward you as my friend; but I would not be worthy of your friendship were I false to my sense of duty and honor." "You are both white-livered cowards," roared Sibley. "One sneaks off under cover of the day--I never saw a fellow taken with a pious fit so suddenly before. The other, in order to keep his skin whole, prates of his dread lest his principles be punctured. the devil take you both for a brace of champion sneaks;" and he turned on his heel and was about to stalk away with a grand air of superiority, when Van Berg said, emphatically: "Wait a moment; I'm not through with you yet. I give you but a brief half-hour to complete your arrangements for leaving the hotel." "What do you mean?" said Sibley, turning fiercely upon him. "I mean, sir, that your presence in that house is an insult to every lady in it, which I, as a gentleman, shall no longer permit. Curse you, had you no mother that you could thus insult all good women by the remark you made a few moments since?" Half beside himself with rage, Sibley drew a pistol; but before he could aim correctly one of his companions struck up his hand and the bullet whizzed harmlessly over Van Berg's head. There was a faint scream from the house, which indicated that the scene had been witnessed by some lady there. The intense passion of the artist, which manifested itself characteristically, held him unflinching to his purpose.