Bainbridge waited up on deck for half an hour. He had not the least idea what was going to be done with him. But he was grieving bitterly. If he did not meet the Englishman, he was disgraced,--his name was known, "he owed it to the honor of the service"; for that was the way the code was established. But how could he have disobeyed the order of Decatur to proceed on board ship? That would have been impossible, also. Yet, strange to say, he did not regret his action, and he had not once felt a thrill of fear. True, Tyler was a noted man-killer, but that did not worry Bainbridge in the least. He may have been a fatalist, but that was not the only reason: he knew without bragging that he was a good shot. Suddenly he heard some one approaching. He lifted his despondent head out of his hands. Was he going to be called into the cabin to take a rating from the fiery tongue of the Commodore. Could he stand that! "Mr. Bainbridge." "Yes, sir." "Commodore Preble's orders are for me to go on shore to-morrow at seven thirty in the morning. By the way, you will go with me----" "Oh, thank you, sir," interrupted the midshipman, his voice breaking; "thank you." "I shall attend to everything, if you will allow me the honor." Bainbridge put out his hand; Decatur took it without a word. The next morning, on a narrow stretch of beach, there was a curious little gathering, or, better, two separate groups: one composed of five men talking together, and at a few paces' distance two silent figures. The five men were conversing in whispers. "Nevertheless, I intend doing it," said the tall slender man who was in the centre. "Do you see the button at his throat? A Yankee more or less does not count." "Are you ready, gentlemen?" The others stepped back, and there stood two tall figures fronting one another: each held a long heavy pistol in the right hand. The faces of the men were pale, but the midshipman was just as cool as his experienced opponent; a determined gleam was in his light blue eyes. The officer who had last spoken began counting, and then there came a flash and one report. The pistols had been discharged at the same instant. Bainbridge reeled slightly, and passed his hand about his throat. "I am all right," he said calmly. "Thank God! Then let's be off," was Decatur's sole return. Lying on the sand was Tyler "the dead shot," the surgeon fumbling at his chest. Decatur and the midshipman raised their hats as they passed by. * * * * *