Half a score of friends were with Challoner. He was always the ringleader among his companions. Just now all seemed highly amused at some anecdote he was relating. His unsteady steps showed John Dinsmore that he was under the influence of wine. He arose and turned away with a sigh, anxious to get out of sight of the sneering, handsome face of his rival and away from the sound of his voice. At that instant the sound of Miss Trevalyn’s name on his rival’s lips caught and held his attention. Raymond Challoner was boasting of his conquest over the heart of the belle and beauty of the season. John Dinsmore was rooted to the spot with horror to hear him discuss in the next breath the sweetness of the betrothal kiss he had received from the peerless Queenie. A general laugh followed and remarks which made the blood boil in John Dinsmore’s veins. He was fairly speechless from rage. “And when do you intend to wed the beautiful Queenie?” asked a dozen or more rollicking voices. “A month or two later, provided I do not see some bewitching little fairy in the meantime who will suit me better. I----” The sentence was never finished. With a leap, John Dinsmore was before him, with a face so ghastly with wrath that those who saw it were stricken dumb. “Take that! for maligning a lady, you dastardly scoundrel!” cried John, in a sonorous voice ringing with passion. And as he uttered the words out flew his strong right arm with the force of a sledge hammer, and in an instant Raymond Challoner was measuring his length before him on the porch. “So it is you, the unsuccessful wooer, who champions Miss Trevalyn’s cause, is it? Well that is indeed rich,” he cried, white to the lips, adding: “I am not so good with my fists as you seem to be; however, I insist upon wiping out this insult with your blood or mine, John Dinsmore, ere another day dawns. Here and now I challenge you to a duel on the beach, within an hour’s time. I will teach you then that it is folly to interfere in another man’s affairs.” As he spoke he raised his hand threateningly, and to John Dinsmore’s horror he saw upon it a triangular diamond ring, such as had been described by his friends. CHAPTER IV. THE MIDNIGHT DUEL. The conflict is over, the struggle is past-- I have looked, I have loved, I have worshiped my last-- And now back to the world, and let fate do her worst On the heart that for thee such devotion has nursed. For thee its best feelings were wasted away, And life hath hereafter not one to betray. Farewell, then, thou loved one--oh, loved but too well, Too deeply, too blindly for language to tell! Farewell, thou hast trampled my love’s faith in the dust, Thou hast torn from my bosom my faith and my trust; But if thy life’s current with bliss it would swell, I would pour out my own in this last fond farewell!