The valet looked through the file, and handed the required copy. “Now leave the others there where I can reach them.” “Yes, sir. Any more orders?” “No; you may leave the room. I will ring if I should want you.” Left to himself, Alexander opened the paper and glanced over its contents. Column after column, page after page, of that voluminous journal passed in rapid review before him. But no notice of the duel was to be found in that number. He threw it aside and took up and as carefully examined another; but with no better success. Then he took a third, of the date June fourth, and in it almost the first thing that met his eye was the paragraph of which he was in search. It was under the head “JERSEY,” and it read as follows: “An ‘affair of honor’ so called came off yesterday morning, in the neighborhood of St. Aubins, between His Highness Prince E——t of H——n and his Lordship Baron K——n of K——n, in which the noble lord was the challenger. The occasion of the hostile meeting is said to have been a beautiful young widow, whose debut at the American Ambassadress’ ball a few days since created such a sensation. Fortunately for the madmen concerned, the duel did not end fatally for either party. The princely H——n escaped scatheless and has returned to his own country. The noble K——n is lying somewhat seriously wounded at St. Aubins, where it is hoped he will have leisure to repent his folly. Such ‘affairs’ are relics of barbarism, unworthy of an enlightened community and of the nineteenth century. Where were the police?” You may imagine with what feelings our chivalric Alexander read these comments. So this was the light in which sensible and law-abiding people viewed his heroism. “As for me,” said he, as he laid the paper down, “it serve me right; but I am truly sorry that _she_ has been even alluded to in the affair. She has not been mentioned by name or even by initial, however, and I am consoled by that circumstance.” Then he turned to other parts of the paper, where he found something to absorb his attention and to drive the memory of the affair from his mind. “Eh! what is this?” “‘ONE THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD?’ “What state-prisoner has run away now, of such importance that a thousand pounds is offered for his recovery?” said Alexander, as he looked more closely at the advertisement. “Ah! what’s this? ‘A child lost!’—a—Heaven have mercy on my soul, it is Drusilla’s child!” he exclaimed, turning even paler that he had been before, as he read the description of the missing boy.