Having finished reading my letter, I laid it down, and made no observation. Talbot, with his usual kind and benevolent countenance, inquired if I had any news? "Yes," I replied, "I have discovered that you are a villain!" "That is news indeed," said he; "and strange that the brother of Clara should have been the messenger to convey it; but this is language, Frank, which not even your unhappy state of mind can excuse. Retract your words." "I repeat them," said I. "You have trifled with my sister, and are a villain." (Had this been true, it was no more than I had done myself; but my victims had no brothers to avenge their wrongs.) "The name of Clara," replied Talbot, "calms me: believe me, Frank, you are mistaken. I love her, and have always had the most honourable intentions towards her." "Yes," said I, with a sarcastic sneer, "at the time that you have been engaged to another woman for years. To one or the other you must acknowledge yourself a scoundrel: I do not, therefore, withdraw my appellation, but repeat it; and as you seem so very patient under injuries, I inform you that you must either meet me on the sands this evening, or consent to be stigmatised with another name still more revolting to the feelings of an Englishman." "Enough, enough, Frank," said Talbot, with a face in which conscious innocence and manly fortitude were blended. "You have said more than I ever expected to have heard from you, and more than the customs of the world will allow me to put up with. What must be, must; but I still tell you, Frank, that you are wrong, that you are fatally deluded, and that you will bitterly repent the follies of this day. It is yourself with whom you are angry, and you are venting that anger on your friend." The words were thrown away on me. I felt a secret malignant pleasure, which blindly impelled me forward, with the certainty of glutting my revenge, by either destroying or being destroyed. My sole preparation for this dreadful conflict was my pistols; no other did I, think of, not even the chances of sending my friend and fellow-mortal, or going myself, into the presence of an Almighty Judge. My mind was absorbed in secret pleasure at the idea of that acute misery which Emily would suffer if I fell by the hand of Talbot. I repaired to the rendezvous, where I found Talbot waiting. He came up to me, and again said:-- "Frank, I call Heaven to witness that you are mistaken. You are wrong. Suspend your opinion, at least, if you will not recall your words." Totally possessed by the devil, and not to be convinced till too late, I replied to his peaceful overture by the most insulting irony: "You were not afraid to fire at a poor boy in the water," said I, "though you do not like to stand a shot in return. Come, come, take your ground, be a man, stand up, don't be afraid."