"Meanwhile I had completed my college career, but had not returned to New Orleans because of my deep disappointment upon learning that my sweetheart had married another man. At this time I was in Paris, when one day I received a piteous letter from the girl-wife telling me that the blow had fallen, that the Montalbon had produced her marriage certificate and claimed her husband, thus dishonoring the daughter of her enemy. The letter also begged my forgiveness for the wrong done to me. I read between the lines and recognized the cry of a broken heart, the bleat of a lamb left to die on the frozen plain. I hurried home with but one thought uppermost, to have revenge upon my cousin. I arrived too late. Not only was the girl dead, but my cousin had disappeared. "I heard that he had gone out West, and thither I followed him. I would get track of him from time to time, but it seemed fated always that he should have just left a place when I confidently expected to come up with him. Thus five years passed, and at last I did meet him. I at once charged him with his crime, and asked for revenge. He laughed at me and refused to fight. I then warned him that I should take his life at the first chance that offered, when I could do so either under seeming provocation, or else where I could not be suspected." "Are you not admitting," interrupted Mr. Barnes, "that you harbored a murderous spirit?" "Mr. Barnes, if all men were punished for their thoughts, the criminal class would be greatly enlarged. You cannot call me to account for anything except my acts. At last my chance came. I followed him one dark night as he went off prospecting in an entirely new direction; we were in a mining country. He tramped most of the night and I pursued. By dawn we were miles away from a habitation. I then made myself known to him, and once more asked him to fight it out. He saw that I was in earnest, and that he was simply compelled to battle for his life. Under these circumstances of course he fought, as the worst coward must do, when driven to desperation. He decided to use pistols, though I wished to try our cause with knives. I confess that I wanted the satisfaction of stabbing him again and again. I wanted to see his life's blood flow at each stroke. It seemed to me tame to stand off at a distance and send one little leaden ball in his direction. Still I admitted his right of choice, and determined to aim as accurately as possible and to send my bullet straight. You see I did not think of my own life. I had made this vengeance my one object, and after accomplishing that, I thought there would be nothing more for me to do. Consequently I expected to kill him easily, and I did not care if his bullet found my heart or not. Perhaps I hoped it would. Just as we were standing up and preparing to fight, something occurred that almost completely unnerved me and changed the whole result. He lowered his pistol and said: