“No, no, no! he will never risk hurting a hair of your head. My life and soul upon it, he will fire into the air! I know and feel what he will do, here, deep in my heart. I know and feel what has been done. Father, you met him in your blind rage, you gave him no chance of explanation, but goaded and taunted, and drove him to the point of accepting your challenge. You will meet him, you will murder him! and I, oh, I shall go mad, and curse the father that gave me life, and him death!” she said, starting up and wildly traversing the floor. “‘Still waters run deep!’ Who would have supposed this quiet maiden had inherited all Marguerite De Lancie’s strength of feeling?” thought Major Helmstedt, as in a deep trouble he watched his daughter’s distracted walk. Suddenly, as that latent and final resolution, before mentioned, recurred to her mind, she paused, and came up to her father’s side, and said: “Father, this thing must go no farther!” “What mean you, Margaret?” “This duel must not take place.” “What absurdity--it must come off! Let all be lost so honor is saved!” “Then listen well to me, my father,” she said, in the long, deep, quiet tone of fixed determination; “this duel shall not take place!” “Girl, you are mad. ‘Shall not?’” “Shall not, my father!” “What preposterous absurdity! Who will prevent it?” “I will!” “You! Come, that is best of all. How do you propose to do it, fair daughter?” “I shall lay the whole matter before the nearest magistrate!” “Poor girl, if I did not pity you so deeply, I should smile at your folly. Why, Margaret, the nearest magistrate is fifteen miles off. It is now eleven o’clock at night, and the proposed meeting takes place at five in the morning!” “Then the more reason for haste, my father, to save you from a crime. I will order a boat and depart immediately,” said Margaret, going to the bell-rope and giving it a sudden peremptory pull. “Oh, then I see that this will not do. You are desperate, you are dangerous, you must be restrained,” said Major Helmstedt, rising and approaching his daughter. “Father, what mean you now? You would not--you, a gentleman, an officer, would not lay violent hands on your daughter?” she said, shrinking away in amazement. “In an exigency of this kind my daughter leaves me no alternative.” “No, no! You would not use force to hinder me in the discharge of a sacred duty?” “Margaret, no more words. Come to your room,” he said, taking her by the arm, and with gentle force conducting her to the door of her own chamber, in which he locked her securely. Knowing resistance to be both vain and unbecoming, Margaret had, for the time, quietly submitted. She remained sitting motionless in the chair in which he had placed her, until she heard his retreating footsteps pause at the door of his study, and heard him enter and lock the door behind him. Then she arose and stepped lightly over the carpeted floor, and looked from the front window out upon the night.