"Clinton, you had better be off; you have barely time to catch the Knoxville train, which leaves Chattanooga in half an hour. I would advise you to make a long stay in New York, for there will be trouble when Dent's brother hears of this morning's work."
"Aye! Take my word for that, and put the Atlantic between you and Dick Dent," added the surgeon, smiling grimly, as if the anticipation of retributive justice afforded him pleasure.
"I will simply put this between us," replied the homicide, fitting his pistol to the palm of his hand; and as he did so, a heavy antique diamond ring flashed on his little finger.
"Come, Clinton, delay may cause you more trouble than we bargained for," urged his second.
Without even glancing toward the body of his antagonist, Clinton scowled at the child, and, turning away, was soon out of sight.
"Oh, sir! will you let him get away? will you let him go unpunished?"
"He cannot be punished," answered the surgeon, looking at her with mingled curiosity and admiration.
"I thought men were hung for murder."
"Yes--but this is not murder."
"Not murder? He shot him dead! What is it?"
"He killed him in a duel, which is considered quite right and altogether proper."
"A duel?"
She had never heard the word before, and pondered an instant.
"To take a man's life is murder. Is there no law to punish 'a duel'?"
"None strong enough to prohibit the practice. It is regarded as the only method of honorable satisfaction open to gentlemen."
"Honorable satisfaction?" she repeated--weighing the new phraseology as cautiously and fearfully as she would have handled the bloody garments of the victim.
"What is your name?" asked the surgeon.
"Edna Earl."
"Do you live near this place?"
"Yes, sir, very near."
"Is your father at home?"
"I have no father, but grandpa has not gone to the shop yet."
"Will you show me the way to the house?"
"Do you wish to carry him there?" she asked, glancing at the corpse, and shuddering violently.
"Yes, I want some assistance from your grandfather."
"I will show you the way, sir."
The surgeon spoke hurriedly to the two remaining gentlemen, and followed his guide. Slowly she retraced her steps, refilled her bucket at the spring, and walked on before the stranger. But the glory of the morning had passed away; a bloody mantle hung between the splendor of summer sunshine and the chilled heart of the awe- struck girl. The forehead of the radiant, holy June day had been suddenly red-branded like Cain, to be henceforth an occasion of hideous reminiscences; and with a blanched face and trembling limbs the child followed a narrow, beaten path, which soon terminated at the gate of a rude, unwhitewashed paling. A low, comfortless looking three-roomed house stood within, and on the steps sat an elderly man, smoking a pipe, and busily engaged in mending a bridle. The creaking of the gate attracted his attention, and he looked up wonderingly at the advancing stranger.