out the brains of a deserving young man, if the good sense of Mr. Denbigh had not denied him the opportunity."
"Mercy!" cried the alarmed matron, on whom Newgate with all its horrors floated—for her early life had been passed near its walls, and a contemplation of its punishments had been her juvenile lessons of morality—"Harry! Harry! would you commit murder?"
"Murder!" echoed her son, looking askance, as if dodging the bailiffs. "No, mother; I wanted nothing but what was fair. Mr. Denbigh would have had an equal chance to blow out my brains; I am sure everything would have been fair."
"Equal chance!" muttered his father, who had cooled himself, in some measure, by an extra pinch of snuff. "No, sir, you have no brains to lose. But I have promised Sir Edward that you shall make proper apologies to himself, to his daughter, and to Mr. Denbigh." This was rather exceeding the truth, but the alderman prided himself on performing rather more than he promised.
"Apology!" exclaimed the captain. "Why, sir, the apology is due to me. Ask Colonel Egerton if he ever heard of apologies being made by the challenger."
"No, sure," said the mother, who, having made out the truth of the matter, thought it was likely enough to be creditable to her child; "Colonel Egerton never heard of such a thing. Did you, colonel?"
"Why, madam," said the colonel, hesitatingly, and politely handing the merchant his snuff-box, which, in his agitation, had fallen on the floor, "circumstances sometimes justify a departure from ordinary measures. You are certainly right as a rule; but not knowing the particulars in the present case, it is difficult for me to decide. Miss Jarvis, the tilbury is ready."
The colonel bowed respectfully to the merchant, kissed his hand to his wife, and led their daughter to his carriage.
"Do you make the apologies?" asked Mr. Jarvis, as the door closed.
"No, sir," replied the captain sullenly.
