"It arose out of a quarrel at the gaming-table; as quite three parts of these duels do arise," said he, tasting his fish. "Two young fellows of most respectable connections, students yet, one training for medicine, the other for the bar, went out with their seconds in the early morning, and shot each other. One died on the spot, the other is lamed for life." "Ugh!" exclaimed Sir Simon. "One can hardly believe such a thing in these sensible matter-of-fact days." And Gall and Loftus, seated at opposite corners of the table, glanced accidentally at each other, and dropped their eyes again. "The one, killed, was an only son—an only child—and his mother is a widow," continued Mr. Bouncely, bending his spectacles on something just placed before him, if by good luck they could distinguish what the compound might be. "She has been nearly out of her mind since; all her enjoyment in life is gone. It is very awful when you reflect upon it." "Poor thing; yes, it is indeed," interposed Mrs. Loftus with compassion. "Every mother must feel for her." "Ma'am, I spoke of the thing itself; not of the poor mother. _That_ is not the awful part of it." William Gall, passing the water, which somebody asked for, happened to catch sight of his mother's bent eyes; bent to hide the tears that had gathered in them. "I was alluding to _him_, ma'am; the young man himself," resumed Mr. Bouncely, willing that Mrs. Loftus should be fully enlightened. _"What is his future fate to be?_ Where is he now? _now_, at this very time, let us ask, when we are left on the earth here, eating a good dinner? God placed him in the world to do his duty usefully and faithfully, and to fit himself for a better; not to hurry himself out of it at his own will and pleasure, a suicide." "A suicide," repeated Mrs. Loftus, who was apt to take things literally. "I thought the other killed him." "Why, dear me, madam, what can you call it but a case of suicide; what else is it?" asked the City man. "They stand up deliberately, the pair of them, to shoot, and be shot at; each one, no doubt, hoping and striving to get the other dead first. I should not like to rush into the presence of my Maker uncalled for, with murder on my hand, and passion in my heart." "Ah, no!" shuddered Mrs. Loftus. "It is very dreadful." "He was about half an hour dying; perfectly sensible and conscious that life was ebbing away fast, past hope," resumed Mr. Bouncely. "What could his sensations have been as he lay there?—what awful despair must have reached him; what bitter repentance! It makes one shudder to think of it." It seemed as though Mr. Bouncely were imparting somewhat of his own strong feeling on the subject to the table. And, in truth, such reflections were enough to make even the careless shudder.