She met me in the hall, her eyes flashing, but her manner evincing
more tenderness than I had ever before witnessed in it. 'Is this true,
Mr. Bell,' she asked, 'that public rumor has informed me? Have you had a
quarrel with Mr. Sefton? Have you fought with him?'
'It is true, my dear,' I replied. 'I have just returned from a duel.'
'Are you injured? Tell me,' she exclaimed, passionately.
'Not in the least,' I replied, 'but desperately--hungry.'
'And he?'
'I believe he is quite severely wounded. He was carried from the field
insensible.'
'Thank God,' she exclaimed.
I knew it was on her lips to tell me that I had been drawn into a
conflict by a villain, who had met his just deserts, but I forestalled
all explanations by demanding my breakfast, and after her first emotions
had subsided, merely gave her a matter-of-fact account of our pretended
quarrel, and of the duel.
But I laid up in my heart, as a sweet episode in my desolate life, the
anxiety she had manifested for my safety.
Public conversation and the newspapers were for a time employed on the
duel, but fortunately the truth was not suggested in the remotest
degree.
I provided liberally for Foster, and sent him from the city.
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