Litchfield enquirer., 1873-05-29

all sorts of things Naturally his mind ran mostly on the young lady they had been to see, and he found himaalf going over her words, looks, tones, and actions, and found pleasure therein, but did not find himself moved to greater kindness for Morris. He owed him nothing, and did not see why he should not have his | try at the mark. All he wanted was fair play, and if he missed, he hoped he'd take his luck without whining.
 Then he heard Morris moving in his room, and the sound in the loneliness of the night made him sorry, and struck him with pang of something very like re- morse. He had been thinking of fthe bold rebel captain he had taken on the road Now 1t was the pale young convalescent with the cut on his cheek, as he wistfully strained toward Cottonwood from the hill that afternoon. How frank and hand some he was How the rich sunlight had flushed his thin face and gilded his strag- gilng hair And how madly fond he was of Miss Forest, and with what reason The thought of her made Luce restless again, and he walked about the. room. He heard the click of 6 gate and looked out. There he was, walking about the garden, down the path to the stream and across by the rude bridge. Here he came agaln, crossing the brook higher up on the stones, not mindig wet foot. Poor boy how he was tormented. And what was it all about? Why was the brave young fellow turning out when he ought to have been asleep, and walking uneasi- ly across and around? Who but he was the cause? Was he not coming between him and his love. and taking advantage of his extravagant notions of honor and obligation to plague him in his own house and drive him wild with doubts and im- patience? How would he hkewto have had some one making up to that Alice when he was her fool? How had he liked 1 Dudley Clark, in fact, when the little devil was playing them off against one f665sind f66ge iand hate?
 He heard him come in, and then the l light streamed out of Morris window and shone as long as Luce knew He was of l many minds and moods before he lay down, and he did not sleep great deal. While he was dressing in the morning, | Tony, young imp of darkness who wait | ed on him, brought him letter. It was | from Morris, and was in these words; 'I can only see one way out of this. chal- lenge you to fight with such weapons as you choose, and according to the usages customary among gentlemen. If you ac- l cept, the details can be easily arranged l without the knowledge of my family. If you refuse, shall consider that I am un- | der no further obligation to allow You any priviledge in this affair, and I shall expect you to keep out of my way. I shall still owe you the risk you took on my account, and make you very welcome as long as you care to stay in my home. Let me have your answer immediately. Luce had already made up his mind. ] At breakfast Morris was brighter and | freer than he had been. Afterward he gave Luce Q cigar, and they stepped out at the window and strolled down into the fields. They came among a clump of trees and stopped.
 .''Did' you get my note?' asked Morris. "Yes," answered Luce.
 ''Well, what is your answer? Do you
 'T refuse,'' said Luce, continuing to smoke.
 'sYou do?" Morris echoed, throwing away his cigar '"Then I consider that you have forfeited any right you may have had in this matter, and l warn you to keep out of my way. Down here we con- slider that men who refuse to fight are" He saw Luce's face turn quite pale and his hand go up and tumble at his throat, and he did not finish.
 Luce leaned back against tree and said:
 'I wouldn't repeat that, if were you. | We consider your code of honor barbar- ous and brutal. And pretty settlement you'd make of it! You must have high regard for the lady that you can't let her choose between us, but would have the ! I,,11 o4 r.. I, n khoA left her murderer. declare 1dont be- lieve you care for her half as much as for yourself I think I care more for her than that. But that's neither here nor there,-Tm going to cut adrift from you and steer my own boat, and you can do the same. He turned and walked back to the house, went up and packed his luggage, came down and found Miss Mor- ris and her father, and bade them good bye, with thanks for their kindness and frank regret at going away Morris insisted upon carrying him over to the town, but Luce was impatient to be alone, and would only let him send his luggage.
 So he went away and walked over to- ward the river and up it to the camp ground. where he had spent that memor- able month Then he took the well-re- l He had not been over it since he had come back to camp with lump in his throat and bitter ache and blindness. And they came back to him now as he re- called them, trudging back on foot.
 It was late in the afternoon when he came near Cottonwood, and sat down to look among some bushes little way oil. The negroes went about the place as of old; he heard old Esop's croaking voice berating some young hopeless, and the youngsters high chatter and yap-yap. There was General, the great St. Bernard, and the smaller fry of dogs about the cabins. All was the same. He heard horse, and Miss Ellen came cantering mp the avenue to the door. Esop came and took the black mare; Luce knew her very wel,-Camilla was her name. The old negro seemed to be making some com plaint to his young mistress, and while l he gibbered and gesticulated the lady stood, with the sunset lighting up her face and figure, straight and fine, her arm straight down and holding the skirt of her habit, her other shand around the mare's white nose, and her face intent and displeased. She made an impatient mo- tion and settled the matter with few words, pointing them with her whip. Then she went into the house.
 When she was gone Luce turned back among the bushes and lay down and cried.
 He had made up his mind it is true; but it was hard, harder than he had thought He rebelled against the mak ing of the world; that all the rest should be nothing and this one girl all, and that out of all she was the one he must not come nearl When he looked at it. it seemed incredible, and yet it was true. 1 What was the use of going awayl There was nothing else to go for. Country and home lost their meaning to him. Honor and courage were words, and no more.
 Ohi he could not go away without sec ing her, hearing her speak. Why should he not? He would only be saying good bye. And he would praise Morris to her, tell how brave he was, and how true and