I clapped the pistol to his head. He folded his arms, lifted his eyes, and regarded me more steadily than he had done for months before. Kingsley struck up nay arm, as I was cocking the weapon. “He must die!” I exclaimed fiercely. “Yes, that is certain!” replied the other. “But I am not willing that I should be brought here as the witness to a murder. If he will fight you, I will see you through. If he will not fight you, there needs no witness to your shooting him. You have no right, Clifford, to require this of me.” “You are not a coward, William Edgerton?” “Coward!” he exclaimed, and his form rose to its fullest height, and his eye flashed out the fires of a manhood, which of late he had not often shown. “Coward! No! Do I not tell you shoot? I do not fear death. Nay, let me say to you, Clifford, I long for it. Life has been a long torture to me--is still a torture. It can not now be otherwise. Take it--you will see me smile in the death agony.” “Hear me William Edgerton, and submit to my will. You know not half your wrong. You drove me from my home--my birthplace. When I was about to sacrifice you for your previous invasion of my peace in C--, I looked on your old father, I heard the story of his disappointment--his sorrows--and you were the cause. I determined to spare you--to banish myself rather, in order to avoid the necessity of taking your life. You were not satisfied with having wrought this result. You have pursued me to the woods, where my cottage once more began to blossom with the fruits of peace and love. You trample upon its peace--you renew your indignities and perfidies here. You drive me to desperation and fill my habitation with disgrace. Will you deny me then what I ask? Will you refuse me the atonement--any atonement--which I may demand?” “No, Clifford!” he replied, after a pause in which he seemed subdued with shame and remorse. “You shall have it as you wish. I will fight you. I am all that you declare. I am guilty of the wrong you urge against me. I knew not, till now, that I had been the cause of your flight from C--. Had I known that!” Kingsley offered him the pistol. “No!” he said, putting it aside. “Not now! I will give you this atonement this afternoon. At this moment I can not. I must write. I must make another atonement. Your claim for justice, Clifford, must not preclude my settlement of the claims of others.” “Mine must have preference!” “It shall! The atonement which I propose to make shall be, one of repentance. You would not deny me the melancholy privilege of saying a few last words to my wretched parents?” “No! no! no!” “I thank you, Clifford. Come for me at four to my lodgings--bring Mr. Kingsley with you. You will find me ready to atone, and to save you every unnecessary pang in doing so.”