“Nay, I know not. Have you fought the duel?”
“Yes; and, as you perceive, harmlessly.”
“Thank Heaven for that.”
“Nay, I had my fire, which Sir Francis Varney refused to return; so the affair had just ended, when the sound of approaching tumult came upon our ears.”
“What a strange mixture,” exclaimed Marchdale, “of feelings and passions this Varney appears to be. At one moment acting with the apparent greatest malignity; and another, seeming to have awakened in his mind a romantic generosity which knows no bounds. I cannot understand him.”
“Nor I, indeed,” said Henry; “but yet I somehow tremble for his fate, and I seem to feel that something ought to be done to save him from the fearful consequences of popular feeling. Let us hasten to the town, and procure what assistance we may: but a
