From that moment they discussed the arrangements formally. These were soon made and Thomas departed.

Edward, regaining his coolness in the wing-room, with the assistance of Virdow, who had been awakened by the disturbance, carried the body of Rita to the house in the yard and sent for a suburban physician near at hand. The man of medicine pronounced the woman dead. Negroes from the quarters were summoned and took the body in charge. These arrangements completed, he met the general in the hall.

"A settlement is impossible," said the latter, sadly. "Get your buggy! Efforts may be made by arrests to stop this affair. You must go home with me to-night." Virdow was put in charge of the premises and an excuse made.

Alone, Edward returned to the side of the dead woman. Long and earnestly he studied her face, and at last said: "Farewell!" Then he went to Gerald's room and laid his lips upon the marble brow of the sleeper. Upstairs he put certain papers and the little picture in his pocket, closed the mother's room door and locked it. He turned and looked back upon the white-columned house as he rode away. Only eight weeks had passed since he first entered its doors.

Before leaving, the general had stabled his horse and telephoned Montjoy at the hotel. Taking a rear street he passed with Edward through the city and before daylight drew up in front of the Cedars.

Dueling at the time these events transpired was supposed to be dead in the south, and practically it was. The press and pulpit, the changed system of business and labor, state laws, but, above all these, occupation had rendered it obsolete; but there was still an element that resorted to the code for the settlement of personal grievances, and sometimes the result was a bloody meeting. The new order of things was so young that it really took more courage to refuse to fight than to fight a duel. The legal evasion was the invitation to conclude the correspondence outside the state.

The city was all excitement. The morning papers had columns and black head lines setting forth all the facts that could be obtained, and more besides. There was also a brief card from Edward Morgan, denouncing the author of the letter which had appeared in the extra and denying all charges brought against him, both personal and political.

At Mr. Royson's boarding place nothing had been seen of him since the publication of the card, and his office was closed. Who it was that acted for Edward Morgan was a matter of surmise, but Col. Montjoy and Gen. Evan were in the city and quartered at the hotel. The latter had gone to Ilexhurst and had not returned.

Peace warrants for Morgan and Royson had been issued and placed in the hands of deputies, and two of them had watched outside a glass room at Ilexhurst waiting for a man who was asleep inside, and who had been pointed out to them by a German visitor as Mr. Morgan, to awaken. The sleeper, however, proved to be Gerald Morgan, an invalid.

At noon a bulletin was posted to the effect that Thomas and Royson had been seen on a South Carolina train; then another that Gen. Evan and Edward Morgan were recognized in Alabama; then came Tennessee rumors.

The truth was, so far as Edward Morgan was concerned, he was awakened before noon, given a room in a farmhouse, remote from the Evan dwelling, and there settled down to write important letters. One of these he signed in the presence of witnesses. The last one contained the picture, some papers and a short note to Gen. Evan; also Edward's surmises as to Gerald's identity. The other letters were for Virdow, Gerald and Mary. He had not signed the last when Evan entered the room, but was sitting with arms folded above it and his head resting on them.

"Letter writing!" said the general. "That is the worst feature of these difficulties." He busied himself with a case he carried, turning his back. Edward sealed his letter and completed his package.

"Well," he said, rising. "I am now at your service, Gen. Evan!"

"The horses are ready. We shall start at once and I will give you instructions on the way."

The drive was thirty miles, to a remote station upon a branch road, where the horses were left.

Connection was made with the main line, yet more distant, and the next dawn found them at a station on the Florida border.

They had walked to the rendezvous and were waiting; Edward stood in deep thought, his eyes fixed upon vacancy, his appearance suggesting profound melancholy. The general watched him furtively and finally with uneasiness. After all, the young man was a stranger to him. He had been drawn into the difficulty by his sympathies, and based his own safety upon his ability to read men. Experience upon the battle field, however, had taught him that men who have never been under fire sometimes fail at the last moment from a physical weakness unsuspected by even themselves. What if this man should fail? He went up to Edward and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"My young friend, when you are as old as I you will realize that in cases like this the less a man thinks the better for his nerves. Circumstances have removed you from the realm of intellect and heart. You are now simply the highest type of an animal, bound to preserve self by a formula, and that is the blunt fact." Edward seemed to listen without hearing.

"General," he said, presently, "I do not want your services in this affair under a misapprehension. I have obeyed directions up to this moment, but before the matter goes further I must tell you what is in my mind. My quarrel with Amos Royson is because of his injury to me and his injury to my friends through me. He has made charges, and the customs of this country, its traditions, make those charges an injury. I believe the man has a right to resent any injury and punish the spirit behind it." Gen. Evan was puzzled. He waited in silence.

"I did not make these fine distinctions at first, but the matter has been upon my mind and now I wish you to understand that if this poor woman were my mother I would not fight a duel even if I could, simply because someone told me so in print. If it were true, this story, there would be no shame to me in it; there would be no shame to me unless I deserted her. If it were true I should be her son in deed and truth. I would take her by the hand and seek her happiness in some other land. For, as God is my judge, to me the world holds nothing so sacred as a mother, and I would not exchange the affections of such were she the lowliest in the land, for all the privileges of any society. It is right that you should know the heart of the man you are seconding. If I fall my memory shall be clear of the charge of unmanliness."

Gen. Evan's appearance, under less tragic circumstances, would have been comical. For one instant, and for the first time in his life, he suffered from panic. His eyes, after a moment of wide-open amazement, turned helplessly toward the railroad and he began to feel for his glasses. When he got them adjusted he studied his companion critically. But the explosion that should have followed when the situation shaped itself in the old slaveholder's mind did not come. He saw before him the form of his companion grow and straighten, and the dark eyes, softened by emotion, shining fearlessly into his. It was the finest appeal that could have been made to the old soldier. He stretched out his hand impulsively.

"Unorthodox, but, by heavens, I like it!" he said.

The up-train brought Royson and Thomas and a surgeon from a Florida town. Evan was obliged to rely upon a local doctor.

At sunrise the two parties stood in the shadow of live oaks, not far apart. Evan and Thomas advanced and saluted each other formally. Evan waited sadly for the other to speak; there was yet time for an honorable settlement. Men in the privacy of their own rooms think one way, and think another way in the solemn silence of a woodland sunrise.

And preceding it all in this instance there had been hours for reflection and hours of nervous apprehension. The latter told plainly upon Amos Royson. White and haggard, he moved restlessly about his station, watching the seconds and ever and anon stealing side-long glances at Morgan. Why, he asked himself, did the man stare at him with that fixed, changeless expression? Was he seeking to destroy his nerves, to overpower him with superior will? No. The gaze was simply contemplative; the gaze of one looking upon a landscape and considering its features. But it was a never-ending one to all appearances.

Hope died away from the general's heart at the first words of Thomas.

"We are here, Gen. Evan. What is your pleasure as to the arrangements? I would suggest that we proceed at once to end this affair. I notice that we are beginning to attract attention and people are gathering."

The general drew him aside and they conversed. The case of pistols was opened, the weapons examined and carefully loaded and then the ground was stepped off—fifteen paces upon a north and south line, with the low, spreading mass of live oaks behind each station. There were no perpendicular lines, no perspective, to influence the aim of either party. There were really no choice of positions, but one had to be chosen. A coin flashed in the sunlight as it rose and descended.

"We win," said Thomas, simply, "and choose the north stand. Take your place." The general smiled grimly.

"I have faced north before," he said. He stood upon the point designated, and pointed to Edward. Then the latter was forced to speak. He still gazed fixedly upon his antagonist. The general looked steadily into his pale face, and, pointing to his own track as he moved aside, said:

"Keep cool, now, my boy, and fire instantly. These pistols are heavier than revolvers; I chose them because the recoil of a revolver is destructive of an amateur's aim. These will shoot to the spot. Keep cool, keep cool, for God's sake, and remember the insult!"

"Have no fear for me," said Morgan. "I will prove that no blood of a slave is here!"

He took the weapon and stood in position. He had borne in mind all the morning the directions given by Gerald; he knew every detail of that figure facing him in the now bright sunlight; he had sketched it in detail to the mouth that uttered its charge against him. The hour might pass with no disaster to him; he might fall a corpse or a cripple for life; but so long as life lasted this picture would remain. A man with a hard, pale face, a white shirt front, dark trousers, hand clasping nervously a weapon, and behind all the deep green of the oaks, with their chiaroscuro. Only one thing would be missing; the picture in mind, clear cut and perfect in every other detail, lacked a mouth!

Some one is calling to them.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" 'Twas the hundredth part of a second, but within it he answered "yes," ready to put the pencil to that last feature—to complete the picture for all time!

"Fire!" He raised his brush and touched the spot; there was a crash, a shock, and—what were they doing? His picture had fallen from its frame and they were lifting it. But it was complete; the carmine was spattered all over the lower face. He heard the general's voice:

"Are you hurt, Edward?" and the pistol was taken from his grasp.

"Hurt! No, indeed! But I seemed to have spoiled my painting, General. Look! My brush must have slipped; the paint was too thin."

The general hurried away.

"Keep your place; don't move an inch! Can I be of assistance, gentlemen?" he continued to the opposite party; our surgeon can aid you, my principal being uninjured. He paused; an exclamation of horror escaped him. The mouth and nose of Royson seemed crushed in, and he was frantically spitting broken teeth from a bloody gap where his mouth had been. The surgeons worked rapidly to stay the flow of crimson. While thus busy the general in wonder picked up Royson's pistol. Its trigger and guard were gone. He looked at the young man's right hand; the forefinger was missing.

"An ugly wound, gentlemen," he said, "but not fatal, I think. The ball struck the guard, cut away a finger, and drove the weapon against the mouth and nose."

The surgeon looked up.

"You are right, I think. A bad disfigurement of those features, but not a dangerous wound." Thomas saluted.

"I have to announce my principal disabled, General."

"We are then satisfied."

Returning to Edward, who was quietly contemplating the scene with little apparent interest, he said, almost gayly:

"A fine shot, Edward; a fine shot! His pistol saved him! If he had raised it an instant later he would have been struck fairly in the mouth by your bullet! Let us be going."

"It is perhaps fortunate that my shot was fired when it was," said Edward. "I have a bullet hole through the left side of my shirt." The general looked at the spot and then at the calm face of the speaker.

He extended his hand again.