Alas! he knew and felt why. He was a man who had ruined his natural life, and all but ruined his immortal spirit. He had sped too fast and too far on the downward road to perdition to stop himself now. He was like one who, running rapidly down hill, has gained such an impetus that he cannot stop, though he knows that he rushes to death and hell. Alexander knew and felt that dueling was unjustifiable under any circumstances—that it was a tremendous crime—a doubly damnable crime, since it involved at once murder and suicide of body and of soul—perhaps the very worst of crimes; and yet he was bent upon committing it, even though, in doing so, he should lose both body and soul. The night seemed endless, and the sea boundless, to this sick spirit; yet, just as the watch sounded eight bells and midnight, the boat entered the picturesque harbor of St. Aubins, and soon after landed at the wharf. There was something more than picturesque, there was something mysterious and even spiritual in the aspect of this singular little maritime town, as seen for the first time in the starlight midnight, overshadowed by its background of Noirmont Heights, and reflected with its few gleaming lights in the still waters of its quiet little harbor—St. Aubins! it is a place for a tired spirit to stop and rest in. The hour was not yet so late but that some of the hotels were open, especially as they were expecting the arrival of the boat. Our passengers landed. Some few carriages were waiting, probably by appointment. Prince Ernest and his suite entered one of these and drove off. Alexander, accompanied by Francis Tredegar, and followed by his servant bearing the carpet bags, walked dreamily up into the town, and took the direction pointed out to him towards the St. Aubins’ hotel. In fact, all his life now seemed something unreal, visionary, delirious as a fevered dream. Arrived at the hotel, they first saw the empty carriage of Prince Ernest turning away from the door, and they knew as a certainty what they had before taken for granted—that their adversaries were stopping at the same house, which was far the best in the place. They took a suite of rooms, including a private parlor and two bed-chambers. “We will have a bit of supper up here and then to work,” said Francis Tredegar, touching the bell. Francis was now the only active agent in the enterprise. The waiter answered his summons. “Supper immediately. Anything in the world that you have handiest, with a bottle of good sherry,” was Mr. Tredegar’s orders. The waiter disappeared and reappeared several times with great rapidity, in course of which evolution he spread the table with a white cloth, and with crockery ware, cutlery and glass, and loaded it with cold ham, roast fowl, and a salad, together with the bottle of wine that had been bespoken. Alexander and Francis sat down and ate and drank as other travelers might who had no murder on their mind. They spoke no word of the impending duel.