cold hand upon his heart, and with it came the grim conviction that if
Lord Newhaven had drawn the short lighter he would have carried out the
agreement to the letter. Whether it was extravagant, unchristian,
whatever might have been truly said of that unholy compact, Lord
Newhaven would have stood by it.

"I suppose I must stand by it, too," said Hugh to himself, the cold
sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I suppose I am bound in honor to
stand by it, too."

He suffered his mind to regard the alternative.

To wrong a man as deeply as he had wronged Lord Newhaven; to tacitly
accept. That was where his mistake had been. Another man, that
mahogany-faced fellow with the colonial accent, would have refused to
draw, and would have knocked Lord Newhaven down and half killed him, or
would have been knocked down and half killed by him. But to tacitly
accept a means by which the injured man risked his life to avenge his
honor, and then afterwards to shirk the fate which a perfectly even
chance had thrown upon him instead of on his antagonist! It was too
mean, too despicable. Hugh's pale cheek burned.

"I am bound," he said slowly to himself over and over again. There was
no way of escape.

Yesterday evening, with some intuition of coming peril, he had said, "I
will get out." The way of retreat had been open behind him. Now, by one
slight movement, he was cut off from it forever.

"I can't get out," said the starling, the feathers on its breast worn