University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.
ST. JOHN AND LINDON.

St. John had not advanced five steps beyond the threshold
of the door, when he met Lindon face to face.

The eyes of that gentleman were fixed upon him with an
expression of rage and menace which fairly made them
blaze.

Lindon seemed to hesitate between two courses—to throw
into Mr. St. John's face the glass of wine which he held in
his hand, or publicly strike and outrage him.

A glance at the cold and resolute countenance of the
young man, however, seemed to deter him from pursuing
either of these courses, and instead, he advanced two steps,
and made a low and exaggerated bow.

“I have been looking for you, sir,” he said, “I am glad
that at last I have found you.”

“Looking for me?” said St. John, with cold politeness.

“Yes, sir!”

“Pray for what purpose, if I may venture to ask?”

Lindon looked around, and seeing that the crowd were
completely absorbed in drinking healths and dispatching
the viands, advanced another pace toward St. John, and
said,

“I was looking for you in order to join me in making
some arrangements, sir.”

“Arrangements?” said St. John; “pray explain yourself,
Mr. Lindon.”

“You do not understand?”

“I am very stupid this evening, and must beg you to explain.”

Lindon raised his head with haughty anger, and said,

“The arrangements I desire, sir, are those to be made between
my friend, Captain Foy, his Excellency's private secretary,
and a gentleman designated by yourself.”

“Oh! a duel!” said St. John, coldly, “you mean a duel?”

“Precisely,” said Lindon, bowing ceremoniously, and biting
his lip to hide his wrath, “you have understood me at
last, sir.”

St. John returned the cold gaze with a look as cold, and
said,

“May I ask, Mr. Lindon, why you consider it necessary
to take my life, or for me to take yours?”

“That is wholly unnecessary!”

“Pardon me, I think it is.”

“Mr. St. John, do you refuse my defiance? Do you
first hide yourself, and when you are found, retreat! I
say retreat, sir! I have been looking for you, and I
thought it was only necessary to find you. Am I mistaken,
sir?”

A flash darted from the young man's eyes, and he raised
his head with an air so proud, that it far exceeded the stateliness
of his adversary. For a moment he made no reply
to these words, but controlling himself at length, said,
calmly,

“I also have been looking for you, sir.”

“Good! then we understand each other perfectly!”

“No, sir, I think not.”

“Sir?”

“You sought me to deliver a defiance—”

“Yes, sir.”

“While I sought you to make you an apology.”

An expression of profound incredulity came to Lindon's
face, and then this look gave way to one of the deepest contempt.

“I am glad I spoke,” he said, with a curling lip, “before
you had an opportunity of addressing me. I will accept no
apologies! I reject them in advance! I have delivered my
defiance, and I will not withdraw it!”

St. John listened to these insulting words with an air of
stupefaction almost. He seemed scarcely to realize that fatuity
could proceed so far.

“Mr. Lindon,” he said, at length, with eyes which seemed
to blaze, “are you demented, out of your senses, lunatic, or
is it your intention to act a comedy?”

“Sir!”

“I said simply that I sought you to make you that apology
which is due from one gentleman to another whose feelings
he has unintentionally been the cause of wounding.
Stop, sir! Before this interview proceeds further I will make
that apology in spite of your insults. Another word such
as you have just uttered will seal my lips. I have therefore
the honor to say, sir, that I had no part in the stupid jest of
that servant this evening, whose presumption it is my intention
to punish. I persist in making the explanation, that
the use of that uniform by my servant was wholly without
my knowledge or consent—an explanation due to myself,
inasmuch as I will not suffer you or any one to think that
I was guilty of so ill-bred and puerile an action. Now,
sir, I am not accustomed to make apologies; I would
much rather decide differences otherwise. If, after this
full and complete explanation, you still persist in your defiance—”

“I do!” said Lindon, trembling with anger; “your statement
may be true, or it may be untrue; in either event I
hold you responsible at the sword's point!”

St. John stood for a moment pale and silent, confronting
his insulting opponent. He scarcely seemed to realize that
hatred could go so far upon a basis so trifling.

“Well, sir!” said Lindon, “do you intend to show the
white feather?”

St. John turned paler than ever, and his eyes filled with
blood.

“Mr. Lindon,” he said, sternly, “I will first ask you a question.”

“Well, sir?”

“Are you mad, or intoxicated?”

“No, sir! I am neither! I am thirsty, sir, however, for
your blood!”

“For my blood? Then you take advantage of this trifle
to insult me and break down my patience.”

“I do!”

“You do not fight for the cause you have specified?”

“No, sir!”

“Pray, why, then?”

“Ask yourself, sir!”

“Mr. Lindon, you will pardon me, but your conversation
is either stupid, or you are fond of enigmas—your real
reason, sir!”

“Ask yourself, I repeat!” said Lindon, pale with rage;
“I suppose you have not humiliated, laughed at, triumphed
over me yonder sufficiently!”

“I sir? I humiliated you, triumphed over you!” said St.
John, in profound astonishment.

“Yes, sir! your air of innocence and surprise does not
dupe me! I am not to be tricked by so shallow a device!”

The profound and violent passion of the young man's nature,
upon which he had heretofore placed a resolute curb,
began to rise and foam, as he listened to these repeated insults.

“You then design to force me to fight you about nothing!”
he said, with increasing anger.

“Yes!” was the reply.

“You refuse to tell me any rational grounds for your
quarrel.”

“I do, sir! If you choose to ignore the fact that you have

supplanted me, laughed at me, made me a jest in your conversation
with a young lady to whom I have paid my addresses,
then I give no reason! If you choose to put on a
mask, and act your part, and pretend ignorance,” he continued,
white with rage, “then I will not explain myself! If
you refuse to regard the words which I now utter in your
hearing as sufficiently insulting, I will make them more distinct
and unmistakeable! If no word of insult will move
you, and induce you to give me that satisfaction which
you rightfully owe me, then I'll throw this glass of wine
in your face, sir! and we'll see if that outrage will arouse
you!”

St. John advanced a step, with a countenance as pale as
death, in which his dark eyes burned like coals of fire.

“Enough, sir!” he said, in a voice low and distinct; “you
have accomplished your purpose, which was doubtless to
drive me beyond all patience. We had better pause at the
words, sir. Were you to move your arm to throw that
wine-glass in my face, I should kill you where you stand.
I have the honor, sir, to place myself entirely at your
orders. My friend, Captain Waters, will doubtless act for
me.”

And taking a step backward, the young man bowed with
cold ceremony, and was silent. An expression of fierce
satisfaction diffused itself over his adversary's face and he
also bowed low.

“Really,” said Captain Waters in the most cheerful voice,
“'t is delightful to see an affair conducted in this elegant
way! Will I act for you, my dear St. John? Why certainly
I will; and now I have the honor to inform Mr. Lindon,
that my dear friend, Captain Foy, or other gentleman
representing him, will find me all day to-morrow at the
Raleigh tavern. Eh? Is that satisfactory?”

“Perfectly,” said Lindon, haughtily; “you shall hear from
Captain Foy.”

“Good!” said the soldier in a friendly tone; “that is excellent!
Morbleu! 't will give me absolute delight to act

with Foy. Who knows but he'll take a hand himself? And
then hurrah for the coup of Reinfels!”

The captain's spirits seemed to have risen immensely, and
he curled his moustache with an air of the proudest satisfaction.

“Come, my dear St. John,” he said, “as this little affair's
arranged, let us get our Canary and—”

“No, I believe I'll return, captain, but I won't take you.
I may count on you?”

“To the death!”

“Then I will see you to-morrow.”

“I'll arrange all duly. Come dine at `Flodden' and I'll
report to you. Is it understood?”

St. John nodded, and they parted. His interview with
Lindon had passed unnoticed almost.

The crowd, in the midst of their uproar and revelry, had
only seen two men holding an animated conversation, terminating
in a ceremonious bow. So sees the world.

As St. John left his side, the captain muttered, with a
smile,

“Lieutenant St. John and Lieutenant Lindon! Captain
Waters and Captain Foy! Why the affair arranges itself
morbleu!”

And he twirled his long black moustache with joyous ardor.

As St. John appeared in the dancing room, the assembly
was coming to an end. It terminated with a reel, as usual,
and the manner in which the ladies whirled round in their
great hooped skirts, or darted from end to end of the apartment,
was marvelous to behold. More than one pile of
curls lost the pearl loops and comb which held them, and
fell in raven or golden showers on snowy shoulders, sending
on the air a storm of perfumed powder. But the accident
was unheeded—the reel overthrows the influence of ceremony,
and they danced on carelessly until the long scrape
of the musician's bow gave the signal that the assembly was
at an end.

It was the expiring compliment to royalty in Virginia.
It was sent upon its way that evening with a “Joy go with
you!” and the most stately bows and curteseys; the next
ball in which the representatives of England were concerned,
was opened on the battle-field.

It was a singular celebration, coming as it did between
the seditious assemblage of Burgesses, in the Raleigh, in
the morning, and the fasting, humiliation, and prayer of
the first of June. This last recommendation of the Burgesses
was widely responded to, and the gentlemen and ladies
of the colony went into mourning on that day, and heard
a sermon, and fasted, and prayed for the liberties of the
land, threatened by the Boston Port bill.[1] In the old church
of Williamsburg, the patriotic clergyman did not mind the
presence of the frowning Governor, and spoke without mincing
his words.

Two hours after the breaking up of the assembly, St.
John was looking pensively through his window, when he
saw a light glimmer in a window opposite, and in an instant
Bonnybel appeared in the luminous circle of rays.

The figure of the young lady, clad in her night dress of
snowy white, was visible for an instant only. A white arm
was raised, the falling sleeve of the robe leaving it bare, and
the extinguisher plunged the whole into darkness.

“I am fond of emblematics,” muttered the young man,
with his sardonic smile, beneath which was, however, concealed
bitter pain and melancholy, “and here I have one
that suits my case admirably! I beam my brightest for her,
and think that she values me somewhat, when down comes
the extinguisher! I am put out at a word! Well, so let
it be! I have something else on my hands now. I need
rest for to-morrow.”

And without further words, he retired to bed.