A Hero of the Pen

A sound came from Henry's lips like the hiss of a wounded serpent.

"I regret that I must disturb this perfect understanding. Perhaps Miss Forest has already told you that I have prior rights, and am not inclined to resign them to you."

"She has told me!"

"Well, then, you must understand that if the hand of Miss Forest is pledged to me, I will tolerate no love in her to any one but her future husband; at least to no living man!"

Walter recoiled in horror. "Does that mean a challenge?"

"Yes; do not start back, Lieutenant Fernow, I waive all your German proprieties as to witnesses, seconds and preliminaries, I offer you a far simpler method. We will draw lots, or throw dice, we two alone, and fortune shall decide. The losing one shall pledge his word of honor not to be among the living twenty-four hours after, and the thing is done."

There was an expression of contempt on Walter's face as he coldly replied; "I regret, Mr. Alison, that this sort of satisfaction does not accord with my ideas of honor. If we must be arrayed against each other, let it be in the orthodox way, eye to eye with weapon in hand. I would fight for my life; not cast lots for it."

Alison's eyes flashed in annihilating scorn. "It certainly may not be so poetical as your German duel, but it is more–sure!"

"But I will not consent. And besides you seem to forget that such a thing is not to be thought of while I belong to the army. My life is not my own, it is my country's. I must not deprive my fatherland of one even the least of its defenders, and while the war lasts, I must neither seek nor yield to private revenge. If I fall, your wish will be gratified; if not, after peace is declared, I am ready to give you the required satisfaction–not before!"

Alison laughed derisively. "After the peace! Perhaps when you have returned to your professor's chair, when rector and regent, when in case of need the whole university covers you with the ægis of science; when all rise in moral exasperation against a barbarism of the middle ages, least of all befitting a teacher of youth. Then at last, impelled by these higher considerations, you will decline! It is a masterly idea, Lieutenant Fernow! But I am not simple enough to fall into the snare you set for me!"

Walter's face glowed with suppressed rage. Involuntarily, ha laid his hand upon his sword.

"How many of the battles in which I have fought, have you gazed at through a spy-glass?" he asked coolly.

The reproach was effectual, but it only the more enraged Alison. It was a tiger's glance he gave the man standing before him.

"Let us end this!" he said savagely. "I offer you one more choice. Give me this night the satisfaction I demand either in my way or in yours. I am ready for all, or–"

"Or what?"

"The consequences be upon your own head!"

Walter crossed his arms and gazed down at his enemy, as if from an unapproachable height. "It cannot possibly happen tonight, as I shall not be here. I must go to the mountains–" A wild, terrible gleam shot suddenly from Alison's eyes; he bent forward and listened, intent and breathless, to what followed–"and all that remains to me is to repeat to you my former words: our quarrel must rest until the end of the war; it cannot be settled a day sooner, and if you seek to force me through insults, I shall appeal to my superior officers."

The last threat was quite unnecessary, for Alison had all at once become calm, strangely calm; he smiled, but it was a smile so icy-cold as to make one shudder.

"Another irrevocable no! Very well! But if we should chance to meet again, Lieutenant Fernow, remember that it was I who offered you honorable combat, and that you refused it. Au revoir!"

He went. Walter remained motionless in his place and gazed silently down at the last faint glow of the expiring embers. Dead, like the bright glowing flames that had lighted his interview with Jane; dead alike their vivid reflection, and last weary, fitful gleams; but now and then solitary sparks quivered here and there, danced awhile like ignes fatui to and fro, and then at last sank away like all else, in dust and ashes. Through the window, the moon now threw a long silver stripe over the floor of the room. It would soon be time to go.

The door hastily opened; this time it was Mr. Atkins who excitedly entered, and approached Fernow.

"I have been seeking you, Lieutenant Fernow!" he said uneasily. "You are alone; has Mr. Alison not been with you?"

"He has just left me."

"I thought as much!" muttered Atkins. "I met him on the stairs. What has happened? What is the trouble between you?"

Walter turned to go. "That, Mr. Atkins, is a matter which concerns him and me alone. Good-night."

Atkins held him back; there was a strange uneasiness in his face. "Listen to reason, Lieutenant Fernow," he said, "and at least, give me an answer. Alison will tell me nothing, but his face says enough. I come to warn you; guard yourself against him!"

Walter shrugged his shoulders. "If you think my life is in danger, you tell me nothing new," he said. "Mr. Alison himself has declared that one of us must leave the world."

"Has he challenged you?"

"He has; and I have told him that the quarrel must rest until the end of the war."

"You little know Henry," said Atkins, "if you think he will submit to that condition. A man driven to madness by passion, does not wait months for his revenge. I do not like the look in his eyes, and I fear it will not be well for you both to sleep to-night under one roof."

"That will not happen," said Walter calmly, "I have to go to the mountains."

"And why must you go?" asked Atkins.

"My errand is a military secret."

"I hope you go well guarded?"

"I am to go alone."

Atkins started back and scanned him from head to foot. "It is very inconsiderate in you to tell this so openly," he said half aloud.

"I certainly should not tell it to the castle servants or to the villagers," said Walter. "I know you well enough, Mr. Atkins, to fear no treachery on your part."

"And have you told Henry?"

"Yes, as much as I have told you, nothing more!"

"This is German simplicity which I cannot at all understand!" muttered Atkins; then laying his hand on the young man's arm, he said with almost frightful earnestness.

"Lieutenant Fernow, follow my advice. Do not go to the mountains to-night. Your life is threatened; yours alone. Delegate this duty to one of your comrades."

"I cannot!"

"Then at least take a guard with you."

"It is impossible, Mr. Atkins!"

"Well, then, you rush onto your own destruction," cried Atkins excitedly. "I have done my duty; now the consequences be upon your own head!"

"Compose yourself," returned Walter, with a gesture of impatience. "Your apprehensions are unfounded. I tell you it is impossible for any one who does not know the password to go from here to the mountains. We have a triple line of outposts."

These words failed to pacify Atkins. "You do not know Alison!" he said. "He is an uncontrollable nature whom circumstances and education have subdued only to outward seeming in making him simply a man of business. If such a nature once bursts its long accustomed barriers, it passes all bounds. In his present mood he is capable of anything."

"But not of murder!" said Walter calmly.

"But you have denied him the one legitimate way of revenge, and he will hardly concern himself with ideal conceptions of right and wrong. Be on your guard, Lieutenant Fernow; I cannot vouch for him."

"I have a better opinion of Mr. Alison than you have," returned Walter. "He may hate me to death, but I do not think him capable of the crime you have hinted at. Tell him"–here a peculiar, almost ghastly smile passed over the melancholy face of the young officer–"tell him he need not take my life, his wish may be fulfilled without it. I must go, Mr. Atkins–give my regards to Miss Forest, and–farewell?"