University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.
THE GHOST EXPLAINS WHAT HAD TAKEN PLACE AT THE BACON
ARMS.

Mr. Effingham turned abruptly, and saw his counterpart—
the exact fac-simile of himself,—as far as dress went, be it
understood.

“Ah, it is you, is it, sir?” he said, coldly, as he sheathed
his sword.

“Yes, and parbleu! you are my friend of the Bacon
Arms! Why, bon jour, mon ami!”

“Good day, sir; you came just in time. I was on the
point of committing a very foolish and unworthy action,
which, no doubt, would have displeased this gentleman.”

“Morbleu! quite likely!” cried the stranger, twirling
his moustache. “I do not consider the circumstance by any
means extraordinary. Displease him? I believe you. It
is calculated to displease a man to have a good short sword
run through his midriff without even the satisfaction of making
his own sword say click! against the invading weapon!”

And, without a moment's hesitation, the stranger turned
to Charles Waters, and, bowing to him, drew the sword from
the scabbard he held in his hand, took it by the point, and
presented the hilt to the unarmed man.

“If we must have fighting—and I regard it as the natural
state of human things—at least, let us have fair play,
my friends,” he said.

But Charles Waters drew back.

“Thanks, sir,” he replied, “but we will settle our differences
elsewhere.”

“A duel?” said the stranger. “Well, I am not fond
of duels—it is a villanous mode of settling the said differences.
Hilf himmel! could any thing be more unreasonable
than such a cold-blooded proceeding! Strike, strike, companion,
while the blood is warm; strike, and so fall: or, if
you stand, shake hands and go away with a quiet conscience!
Drink, and be friends! I abominate your duels, though I
have fought many.”

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Effingham, with his reckless smile,
“come to-morrow and see another.”

“Why, with pleasure!” returned the stranger; “are the
arrangements made?”

“Not quite, the cause of strife having just arisen”

“Ah, ah! a pretty girl is in the affair! Morbleu, comrade,
I'll see you in your sword exercise with pleasure,
though you were going on contrary to the rules just now.
A pretty girl, my life on it! Perhaps that charming little
comedienne, Miss Hallam, whom I have seen in London, and
who is here?”

“Yes, sir.”

The stranger shook his head.

“Never fight about a woman,” he said, sagely; “one
always regrets it—always, comrade.”

“Permit me to say that I consider nothing more appropriate.”

“Appropriate! See how opinions differ. Perpend,
compagnon: if you fight about the turn of a card, the
rattle of a dice-box there is some philosophy in it—they
are worth it—it is rational. But about a pair of eyes—a
woman!—never!”

“Well, sir, I still hold to my opinion.”

“And are going to fight?”

“Yes.”

“Have you a friend?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me act for you; and don't think I bear you any
ill-will for the affair out yonder. We can easily cross
swords on that, if necessary, afterwards,” said the stranger,
with the utmost calmness and good-humor.

“Thanks, sir,” said Mr. Effingham; “your offer relieves
me from much trouble, and I accept it.”

“Who is my principal? in other words, comrade, let me
have your name—Effingham, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“My own is—hum—well, I am called La Rivière—
sometimes Captain La Rivière—not unfrequently the Chevalier
La Rivière. Now for your opponent,” added the
stranger, looking keenly at Charles Waters.

“My name is Waters, sir,” he said, “but I really do not
see the necessity of—”

“Waters!” cried the stranger; “tonnere! is it possible!”

And dropping his hand to his sword hilt, he looked long
and fixedly, with a strange expression, at the silent man.

“What surprises you, sir?” asked Waters.

The stranger made no reply; he seemed to have suddenly
grown dumb; then he murmured,

“Waters!—Waters!—did you say Waters?”

“Yes, sir; Charles Waters.”

The stranger, with his eyes still fixed with the same
curious expression on the other, said to Mr. Effingham:

“I regret that I shall have to withdraw my offer to officiate
as your second.”

“Why, sir?” said Mr. Effingham, abruptly, and with
some irritation.

“Come, come, comrade; because it pleases me. I can't
give a reason at the sword's point,” said the stranger, coolly.

“Pardon my abruptness, sir.”

“Certainly, certainly,” returned the stranger, with great
good-nature; “and I will state that I think I was well acquainted
with a relative of Mr. Waters, in the Seven
Years' War.”

“With my brother, sir!”

“Was he your brother, mon ami? A certain Captain
Ralph; was that his name?”

“Yes, yes; did you—”

“Know him? Oh, perfectly well. Morbleu, we were
inseparable! Excellent friends—devoted to each other—
eating out of the same platter—drinking out of the same
glass—loving the same damsels—marching together—sleeping
together—defending each other—really inseparable, on
the honor of a soldier!”

And the captain laughed, until his moustaches curled up
to his eyes.

“I never can think of that man without laughing,” he
said; “he was such a ridiculous character—had been through
so many odd adventures, which he was eternally relating—”

“Yes, yes; I recognize the portrait,” said Charles Waters,
hanging on the stranger's words.

“Faith, do you?” said the captain; “well, I should
recognize him in the dark. You know, now, sir,” he added,
turning to Mr. Effingham, “why it is not proper that I
should act as your second in a duel with the brother of my
dearest friend.”

“Well, sir, as you choose,” said Mr. Effingham; “you
are at liberty to act as pleases you, of course.”

“Of course; and, therefore, I transfer my offer to Mr.
Waters, here.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You are very kind, sir,” said Charles Waters, calmly.

“Not at all, not at all; I owe that much to Ralph; but,
parbleu, I can't go on the field a perfect counterpart of your
opponent,” said the stranger, laughing.

“I have been wondering, sir, at the perfect similarity.”

The stranger laughed heartily.

“The plainest thing in the world,” he said; “a real case
of highway robbery at an inn, and to this moment I myself
am as completely in the dark as to what it means.”

“It means that I wanted your soldier's dress,” said Mr.
Effingham, coolly, “and took it.”

“Leaving your own. Good! good!” laughed the
stranger. “Don't think I am going to quarrel, or find
fault. Nothing astonishes me in this world, and few things
make me angry Faith! I admired your strategy. Figure
to yourself, as the French say,” continued the stranger,
turning to Charles Waters, and curling his black moustache;
“imagine me stopping at the tavern called the `Bacon Arms,'
half way between this place and York, the port at which I
landed. I am seated in the ordinary, amusing myself by
tracing figures on the sanded floor, with my sword's point; I
wait for the end of the storm and rain, knowing the value of
a good hostelry, when, suddenly, my friend here enters,
having outrun the wind, and desirous, like myself, of saving
himself a wetting. He looks at me—he admires my costume,
and faith! he had reason, for the great Frederic himself
always regarded it with a smile of approbation. We
drink—there I am never at a loss, morbleu—we converse—
we abuse the storm—we become excellent friends. Now
mark the sequel. At eleven at night the storm still rages;
we agree to retire. Mine host has but one bed-room vacant,
with two beds. We go to sleep—I wake up in the morning
—and when I come to look for my proper habiliments,
diable! they are gone. My good friend, too, has vanished,
leaving, however, his own dress! What a comedy! Better
than Closter Zeven! I take up the coat—I regard the

breeches—I put them on, and turn myself in admiring
them. But faith, they were too tight! My shoulders
ached—my breast felt as if I was cased in armor—faith, it
feels so now!”

And the soldier drew a long breath, which sent flying
from the rich waistcoat the two remaining buttons; at which
amusing circumstance he laughed again.

“And now, mon ami,” he said, to Mr. Effingham, “take
pity on a poor defeated comrade, who has got the worst of
it, who came along groaning over his defeat, who, in conclusion,
will cheerfully debate the right of property in the
said costume, at the sword's point! Come now, be magnanimous;
let us have a bout!”

“That is not necessary, sir,” said Mr. Effingham, who
had listened to the stranger with haughty indifference; “I
have no need of the dress at present, as the occasion for
which I took it in exchange for my own is deferred some
days.”

“Oh, you are welcome then, to it, comrade,” replied the
stranger, who, still looking abstractedly at Charles Waters,
had not noticed the cold accent of Mr. Effingham's voice;
“when you wish me to unshell myself, you have but to speak,
and I will cheerfully do so. I will even place my whole
travelling wardrobe, at York yonder, at your disposal.”

“Thanks, sir: will you come now and resume your
dress?”

“Yes, yes, at once—for these elegant velvets worry
me.”

“First, however, let me restore to you this bundle of
Bank of England notes,” said Mr. Effingham, taking from
his purse the money, “I found them in the pocket of your
coat—ten notes of ten pounds each.”

“Good—good—I had forgotten them completely,” said
the soldier, thrusting them into his pocket without looking
at them; “and now let us proceed to your apartment, mon
compagnon. It is understood that this little affair takes
place—”

“Day after to-morrow, if that is agreeable to Mr. Waters,”
said Mr. Effingham, with his disdainful coldness; “I
have indispensable engagements.”

“What say you, sir?” the soldier said to the other, “I
act for you.”

“When you please, sir,” was the calm reply.

“Well, well now: that is arranged. We shall talk over
matters in the course of the day.”

And leaving Charles Waters, the two copies of each
other entered Mr. Effingham's apartment—the one laughing,
joyous, talking loudly; the other cold, silent, and with
a weary, reckless look, which made the contrast perfect.