"We shall have no difficulty in seeing each other," said Lodore, in a cheerful voice. He felt cheerful: a burthen was lifted from his heart. How much must a brave man suffer under the accusation of cowardice, and how joyous when an opportunity is granted of proving his courage! Lodore was brave to rashness: at this crisis he felt as if about to be born again to all the earthly blessings of which he had been deprived so long. He did not think of the dread baptism of blood which was to occasion his regeneration--still less of personal danger; he thought only of good name restored--of his reputation for courage vindicated--of the insolence of this ill-spoken fellow signally chastised. "Have you weapons?" asked his companion. "They will procure pistols, I suppose," replied Lodore: "we should lose much time by going to the hotel for mine." "We are passing that where I am," said Mr. Villiers. "If you will wait one moment I will fetch mine;--or will you go up with me?" They entered the house, and the apartments of Mr. Villiers. At such moments slight causes operate changes on the human heart; and as various impulses sweep like winds over its chords, that subtle instrument gives forth various tones. A moment ago, Lodore seemed to raise his proud head to the stars: he felt as if escaping from a dim, intricate cavern, into the blessed light of day. The strong excitement permitted no second thought--no second image. With a lighter step than Mr. Villiers, he followed that gentleman up-stairs. For a moment, as he went into an inner apartment for the pistols, Lodore was alone: a desk was open on the table; and paper, unwritten on, upon the desk. Scarcely knowing what he did, Lodore took the pen, and wrote--"Ethel, my child! my life's dearest blessing! be virtuous, be useful, be happy!--farewell, for ever!"--and under this he wrote Mrs. Greville's address. The first words were written with a firm hand; but the recollection of all that might occur, made his fingers tremble as he continued, and the direction was nearly illegible. "If any thing happens to me," said he to Mr. Villiers, "you will add to your kindness immeasurably by going there,"--pointing to the address,--"and taking precaution that my daughter may hear of her disaster in as tender a manner as possible." "Is there any thing else?" asked his companion. "Command me freely, I beseech you; I will obey your injunctions to the letter." "It is too late now," replied the noble; "and we must not keep these gentlemen waiting. The little I have to say we will talk of as we walk."