"I am interested," said Georgiana; "but as I agree with you we need not both speak." But she looked pained, and I sought to give a happier turn to the conversation. "There is only one duel I ever heard of that gave me any pleasure, and that one never came off. A few years ago a Kentuckian wrote a political satire on an Irishman in Illinois--wrote it as a widow. The Irishman wished to fight. The widow offered to marry the Irishman, if such a sacrifice would be accepted as satisfactory damages. The Irishman sent a challenge, and the Kentuckian chose cavalry broadswords of the largest size. He was a giant; he had the longest arms of any man in Illinois; he could have mowed Erin down at a stroke like a green milkweed; he had been trained in duelling with oak-trees. You never heard of him: his name is Abraham Lincoln." "I have heard of him, and I have seen him--in Union County before I came here," said Georgiana, with enthusiasm. "He came here once to hear Mr. Clay speak," I resumed; "and I saw them walking together one day under the trees at Ashland--the two most remarkable-looking men that I ever beheld together or in human form." My few acres touch the many of the great statesman. Georgiana and I often hear of the movements of his life, as two little boats in a quiet bay are tossed by the storms of the ocean. Any reference to him always makes us thoughtful, and we fell silent now. "Georgiana," I said at length, softly. "It's all in self-defence. I believe you promised to marry me in self-defence." "I did!" she said, promptly. "Well, I certainly asked you in self-defence, Miss Cobb," I replied. "And now in a few days, according to the usage of my time, I am going to take your life--even at the peril of my own. If you desire, it is your privilege to examine the deadly weapons before the hour of actual combat," and I held out my arms to her appealingly. She bent her body delicately aside, as always. "I am upset," she said, discouragingly. "You have been abusing Kentucky."