It was now getting dark: the apology was again demanded, and again refused. Another round was inevitable; but there were no more balls which would fit both pistols. It was, therefore, proposed that the seconds should return to the town for them. This was agreed to, and the combatants returned both to a cottage or farm-house near, where they coolly sat by the kitchen fire while the balls were preparing—at least half an hour—for it was necessary to cast the balls. It was by this time settled night, but the moon rose very bright; which, together with the reflection from the snow, gave a tolerably good light. The men took their ground once more—all parties silent—again was the word given—and again deliberate and slower aim was taken. One pistol missed fire, the other was harmless. There had now been three hours spent: the seconds, however, consulted, and both the combatants shook hands. It was a heart-sickening scene to all; and more so when it was observed that each of the opponents expressed themselves happy that the other had escaped. It is but justice to say, that when the surgeon informed him (all being then over) that he had fired in the air, the most generous assurance was given that if it had been known to the Lieutenant's party at the time, they would not have fired another shot: the surgeon declared that he did so from a repugnance to fire at his friend, when he felt that he had taken summary satisfaction the night before; he therefore fired obliquely, and not palpably upwards, in hopes that one shot would satisfy the Lieutenant without affording a chance to misconstrue the surgeon's good feelings towards him. Thus terminated a duel, which, but for something like a miracle, would have been fatal to one or both of these mutual friends. The lie was an irritating insult; but had the insulted acted prudently, he would not have returned it by a blow, and therefore would have held a greater power over his opponent. He should have sent him an immediate message, and the consequences most likely would have been that an apology as public as the insult would have been made: in my mind, a far greater triumph than the death of the insulter, for such is the moral humility from conviction of having committed an injury; and the atonement is ample. If no insult except a blow (or even that in some cases) were returned on the moment, but cool and determined steps taken for gentlemanly satisfaction, there would be but few fatal duels; for few men when under the influence of calm reason (a state seldom attending the man while insulting) will hesitate to make every amends in his power. If otherwise, then is the pistol the friend.