Hearts Afire (6 page)

To
Harleigh
Daly:

SIR: A person of the character I bear cannot allow the treachery and
dishonorable conduct of which you have been guilty to pass without punishment.
Convince me that you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by
meeting me tonight as the sun drops in the wood on the
Kalchhook
Hill. Our seconds can locate the spot; and that you may have no pretense to
delay, I send by bearer two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make
choice.

In the interim, at your service
,
Sir Edward Van
Heemskirk
.

He had already selected Guy Barrington as his second. He was a young man of
wealth and good family, exceedingly anxious for social distinction, and,
moreover, so fastidiously honorable that Sir Edward felt himself in his hands
to be beyond reproach. As he anticipated, Barrington accepted the duty with
alacrity, and, indeed, so promptly carried out his principal's instructions,
that he found
Harleigh
Daly still sleeping when he
waited upon him. But
Harleigh
was neither astonished
nor annoyed. He laughed lightly at “Sir Edward's impatience of offence,” and
directed Mr. Barrington to Ewan
Rawden
as his second;
leaving the choice of swords and of the ground entirely to his direction.

“A more civil, agreeable, handsome gentleman, impossible it would be to
find; and I think the hot haughty temper of Sir Edward is to blame in this
affair,” was Guy Barrington's private comment. But he stood watchfully by his
principal's interests, and affected a gentlemanly disapproval of
Harleigh
Daly's behavior.

And lightly as
Harleigh
had taken the challenge,
he was really more disinclined to fight than Sir Edward was. In his heart he
knew that Sir Edward had a just cause of anger; “but then,” he argued, “Sir
Edward is a proud, pompous fellow, for whom I never assumed a friendship. His
street corner friendliness I regret in any way to have abused; but who the
deuce could have suspected that Sir Edward Van
Heemskirk
was in love with the adorable Charlotte? In faith, I did not at the first, and
now tis too late. I would not resign the girl for my life; for I am sensible
that life, if she is another's, will be a very tedious thing to me.”

All day Sir Edward was busy in making his will, and in disposing of his
affairs. He knew himself well enough to be certain, that, if he struck the
first blow, he would not hesitate to strike the death blow, and that nothing
less than such conclusion would satisfy him.
Harleigh
also anticipated a deathly persistence of animosity in his opponent, and felt
equally the necessity for some definite arrangement of his business.
Unfortunately, it was in a very confused state. He owed many debts of honor,
and his bill with Hildebrand was yet unsettled. He drank a cup of coffee, wrote
several important letters, and then went to
Fraunce's
,
and had a steak and a bottle of wine. During his meal his thoughts wandered between
Charlotte and Hildebrand. After dinning he went straight to Hildebrand's store.

It happened to be Saturday; and the shutters were closed, though the door
was slightly open, and Hildebrand was sitting with his granddaughter in the
cool shadows of the crowded place.
Harleigh
was not
in a ceremonious mood, and he took no thought of disturbing them. He pushed
wider the door, and went clattering into their presence; and with an air of
pride and annoyance Hildebrand rose to meet him. At the same time, by a quick
look of intelligence, he dismissed Miriam; but she did not retreat farther than
within the deeper shadows of some curtains of stamped Moorish leather, for she
anticipated the immediate departure of the intruder.

She was therefore astonished when her grandfather,
after listening to a few sentences, sat down, and entered into a lengthy
conversation. And her curiosity was also aroused; for, though
Harleigh
had often been in the store, she had never
hitherto seen him in such a sober mood, it was also remarkable that her
grandfather should receive papers, and a ring which she watched
Harleigh
take from his finger; and there was, beside, a
solemn, a final air about the transaction which gave her the feeling of some
anticipated tragedy.

When at last they rose,
Harleigh
extended his
hand. “Hildebrand,” he said, “few men would have been as generous and, at this
hour, as considerate as you. I have judged from tradition of business, and
misjudged you. Whether we meet again or not, we part as friends.”

“You have settled all things as a gentleman, Sir. May my white hairs say a
word to your heart this hour?”
Harleigh
bowed; and he
continued, in a voice of serious benignity: “The words of the Holy One are to
be regarded, and not the words of men. Men call that
honour
which He will call murder. What excuse is there in your lips if you go this
night into His presence?”

There was no excuse in
Harleigh's
lips, even for
his mortal interrogator. He merely bowed again, and slipped through the
partially opened door into the busy street. Then Hildebrand a hat upon his head
and arm, and went and stood with his face toward the street, and recited, in
low, rhythmical sentences, the poem called the “Assault.” Miriam sat quiet
during his recital but when he returned to his place, she asked him plainly,
“What murder is there to be, grandfather?”

“It is a duel between
Harleigh
Daly and another. It shall be called murder at the last.”

“The other, who is he?”

“The young man Sir Edward Van
Heemskirk
.”

“I am sorry. He is a courteous young man. I have heard you say so. I have
heard you speak well of him.”

“O Miriam, There are two young lives to be put in death peril for the smile
of a woman,—a very girl she is.”

“Do I know her, grandfather?”

“She passes here often. The daughter of
Joris
and
Lysbet
Morgan,—the little fair one, the child.”

“Oh, but now I am twice sorry! She has smiled at me often. We have even
spoken. The good old man, her father, will die; and her mother, she was always
like a watch-dog at her side.”

Then Hildebrand, with his hands on his side, and his
head sunken in sorrow, stood meditating, perhaps praying; and the hot, silent
moments went slowly away. In them, Miriam was coming to a decision which at
first alarmed her, but which, as it grew familiar, grew also lawful and kind. She
was quite certain that her grandfather would not interfere between the young
men, and probably he had given
Harleigh
his promise
not to do so; but she neither had received a charge, nor entered into any
obligation, of silence. A word to the Elder Van
Heemskirk
would be sufficient. Should she not say it? Her heart answered “yes,” although
she did not clearly perceive how the warning was to be given.

Perhaps Hildebrand divined her purpose, and was not
unfavourable
to it; for he suddenly rose, and, putting on his cap, said, “I am going to see
my kinsman John Hildebrand. At sunset, set wide the door; an hour after sunset
I will return.”

As soon as he had gone, Miriam wrote to Van
Heemskirk
these words:

“
Good sir,—this is a matter of life and death: so then, come at once, and
I will tell you. MIRIAM Hildebrand.”

With the slip of paper in her hand, she stood within the door, watching for
some messenger she could trust. It was not many minutes before Van
Heemskirk's
driver passed, leading his loaded wagon; and to
him she gave the note.

That day Elder Van
Heemskirk
only was in the
office. But it was part of the job to stay over and attend to the people, and
he supposed the strip of paper to refer to
a
in-house counsel or some other household necessity.

Its actual message was so unusual and unlooked for,
that it took him a moment or two to realize the words; then, fearing it might
be some practical joke, he recalled the driver, and heard with amazement that
the Hildebrand's granddaughter had herself given him the message. Assured of
this fact, he answered the summons as soon as he received it. Miriam was
waiting just within the door; and, scarcely heeding his explanation, she
proceeded at once to give him such information as she possessed. Van
Heemskirk
was slow of thought and slow of speech. He stood
gazing at the beautiful, earnest girl, and felt all the fear and force of her
words; but for some moments he could not speak, nor decide on his first step.

“Why do you wait?” pleaded Miriam. “At sunset, I tell you. It is now near
it. Oh, no thanks! Do not stop for them, but hasten to them at once.”

He obeyed like one in a dream; but, before he had reached
Joris
Morgan's shop, he had fully realized the actual
situation.
Joris
Morgan was just leaving business. He
put his hand on him, and said, “
Joris
, no time have
you to lose. At sunset, Sir Edward and that d——
Harleigh
Daly are to duel.”

“Eh? Where? Who told you?”

“On the
Kalchhook
Hill. Stay not for a moment's
talk.”

At that moment Sir Edward and
Harleigh
were on
their road to the fatal spot. Sir Edward had been gathering anger all day;
Harleigh
, a vague regret. The folly of what they were going
to do was clear to both; but Sir Edward was dominated by a fury of passion,
which made the folly a revengeful joy. If there had been any thought of an
apology in
Harleigh's
heart, he must have seen its
hopelessness in the white wrath of Sir Edward's face, and the calm deliberation
with which he assumed and prepared for a fatal termination of the affair.

The sun dropped as the seconds measured off the space
and offered the lot for the standing ground. Then Sir Edward flung off his coat
and waistcoat, and stood with bared breast on the spot his second indicated.
This action had been performed in such a passion of hurry, that he was
compelled to watch
Harleigh's
more calm and leisurely
movements. He removed his fine scarlet coat and handed it to Guy Barrington,
and would then have taken his sword; but Barrington advanced to remove also his
waistcoat. The suspicion implied by this act roused the
Harleigh's
indignation. “Do you take me to be a person of so little honor?” he
passionately asked; and then with his own hands he tore off the richly
embroidered satin garment, and by so doing exposed what perhaps some delicate
feeling had made him wish to conceal,—a bow of orange ribbon which he wore
above his heart.

The sight of it to Sir Edward was like oil flung upon flame. He could
scarcely restrain himself until the word “
go
” gave him license to charge
Harleigh
, which he did with such impetuous rage, that
it was evident he cared less to preserve his own life, than to slay his enemy.

Harleigh
was an excellent swordsman, and had
fought several duels; but he was quite disconcerted by the deadly reality of
Sir Edward's attack. In the second thrust, his foot got entangled in a tuft of
grass; and, in evading a lunge aimed at his heart, he fell on his right side.
Supporting himself, however, on his sword hand, he sprang backwards with great
dexterity, and thus escaped the probable death-blow. But, as he was bleeding
from a wound in the throat, his second interfered, and proposed a
reconciliation. Sir Edward angrily refused to listen. He declared that he “had
not come to enact a farce;” and then, happening to glance at the ribbon on
Harleigh's
breast, he swore furiously, “He would make his
way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just anger.”

Up to this point, there had been in
Harleigh's
mind a latent disinclination to slay Sir Edward. After it, he flung away every
kind memory; and the fight was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until
there ensued one of those close locks which it was evident nothing but “the key
of the body could open.” In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of
both men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with
the force.

Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both, bleeding and
exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that moment Elder Van
Heemskirk
and
Joris
Morgan, with
their attendants, reached the spot.

Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men, —
Joris
Morgan facing
Harleigh
, and
the Elder Van
Heemskirk
his son. “Sir Edward, you
dear lad, you born fool, give me your weapon, sir!” But there was no need to
say another word. Sir Edward fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall
a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on
Harleigh's
breast; for
Harleigh
had also dropped fainting to the
ground, bleeding from at least half a dozen wounds. Then one of Van
Heemskirk's
young men, who had probably defined the cause
of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made as if he would
pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson in
Harleigh's
blood.

But
Joris
pushed the rifling hand fiercely away.
“To touch it would be the vilest theft,” he said. “His own it is. With his life
he has bought it.”

“
I
know I felt Love's face

Pressed
on my neck, with moan of pity and grace,