"Hear me, dear Lionel!" said he, bursting into tears, "and forgive that advice which sprung from a heart tenderly alive to every thing connected with your interest. Control your rage, and listen to the voice of that friend who will sacrifice life, and surrender every thing he has on earth, for your reputation. Pardon the intrusion of my counsel, and I will forgive your suspicions. Come, give me your hand, and let me not believe that you have a bad heart." "What right sir! have you to allude to my heart, whatever it may be?--no imputation shall be cast on it, by a weeping coward. I shall hold you answerable," said I quitting the room--"for the baseness of your insinuation, and I can assure you that an ocean of hypocritical tears will not protect you." So soon as I could procure a pen, I addressed a cruel and fiend-like letter to Arthur, demanding an humble apology--and an explicit disavowal of his insult, and in the event of his refusal, my second was authorised to make a _speedy arrangement_. "Let him not (concluded my letter) see your womanly accomplishments, for he is prepared to scorn the weakness, and loathe the duplicity of your tears." The same second whom Pilton's attack had maddened into a demoniac rage for blood, bore my challenge to Arthur; and when he returned, I saw his eye kindled into animation at the hope of a certain fight. "Here is a letter for you! Ludwell is true game. You cannot retract your challenge, and he will be forced to meet you! I will clean the pistols, while you write family letters and starve; for the odds are against you, if you dine or eat any thing." While he busied himself in searching for the pistols, I opened and read with feelings of stern contempt, the letter of Arthur. _My dear Lionel_,--Take back your challenge, and do not force me to meet _you_ in combat. I cannot refuse it, for I have not firmness of mind to do an act which my reason suggests, and my heart approves. I am afraid of that public opinion which would execrate me as a coward, and trample me into infamy, ere I had stept into manhood. In spite of your unkind letter, I still love you with the candor and truth of a boy's heart, and I think now more deeply of the innocent hours of our early days, when friendship united us, and sincerity hallowed the union. You know that I cannot make an apology under a threat. Retract it, and I will humble myself, if by such means I can regain your wonted affection. Your friend, ARTHUR LUDWELL. "Return!" said I to my second, "and inform Mr. Ludwell that if he do not consent to fight, I will proclaim him as a coward, and publish his whining letter to the world. He, with every other man who dare sustain Pilton, is my enemy."