I walked the deck feeling more unhappy than I had ever before done. The midshipmen of the corvette kept aloof from me, fancying that my cousin had communicated some ill news, or perhaps that I was in disgrace. I don't know. I was glad that no one came and spoke to me. The dinner hour at last arrived, and I went into the cabin. Of course I was supposed not to know anything about the contemplated duel, and I tried to appear as cheerful as before. Besides Mr Sandford, the purser dined in the cabin, and no allusion even was made to the major's visit. My cousin endeavoured to keep up the conversation, and smiled at the purser's bad puns, which he had probably heard a hundred times before. I talked whenever I could about home--the dear old hall--my sisters and brothers, and my father and mother. I observed that a shade of pain passed over his countenance whenever I mentioned my sisters. I was unwise in doing so, unless it could have had the effect of shaking his resolution, and inducing him to send to Captain Staghorn, and to tell him that of men the world might say what they chose, but that he would not go forth to break the law of God, to take his life or to lose his own. But why do I say that? I now know that nothing but the love of God, and of God's law implanted in his heart, would have induced him thus to act. Abstractedly he knew that he was about to do a wrong thing, but had he been really making God's law the rule of his life, he would not have hesitated one moment, but the moment Major O'Grady had opened the subject, he would have told him plainly that he feared God more than man; that if he wronged Captain Staghorn, even though unintentionally, he would make him all the amends in his power, but that fight he would not. His conduct, however, very clearly showed--brave, and honest, and generous, and kind-hearted as he was, a man to be esteemed and loved--that he feared man, and what man might say, more than God, and how God would judge. Numbers act thus; but numbers perish of a plague. That there are many, does not save them. It must be understood that I did not think thus at the time. I was only a little, less careless and thoughtless than those around me. I was very sorry, though, that my cousin was going out to fight with a man who was a dead shot, because I was afraid he would be killed, and that my sister Bertha, whom I loved dearly, would be made miserable. It did occur to me, as I looked at his open and intelligent countenance, his broad chest and manly form, how sad it was that, by that time the next day, he might be laid in the cold grave.