contrary to every ideal I held of what was right and decent. For such
as these, I had felt ashamed of my old comrades. It was humiliating,
but it was true; and as I admitted this to myself, my cheeks burned in
the darkness, and I buried my face in the pillow. For some time I lay
awake debating fiercely in my mind as to whether, when I faced young
Fiske, I should shoot the pistol out of his hand, or fire into the
ground. And it was not until I had decided that the latter act would
better show our contempt for him and his insult, that I fell asleep.

Von Ritter and Miller woke me at four o'clock. They were painfully
correct and formal. Miller had even borrowed something of the Baron's
manner, which sat upon him as awkwardly as would a wig and patches. I
laughed at them both, but, for the time being, they had lost their
sense of humor; and we drank our coffee in a constrained and sleepy
silence.

At the graveyard we found that Fiske, his two seconds, Graham and
Lowell, the young Middy, and a local surgeon had already arrived. We
exchanged bows and salutes gloomily and the seconds gathered together,
and began to talk in hoarse whispers. It was still very dark. The moon
hung empty and pallid above the cold outline of the hills, and
although the roosters were crowing cheerfully, the sun had not yet
risen. In the hollows the mists lay like lakes, and every stone and
rock was wet and shining as though it had been washed in readiness for
the coming day. The gravestones shone upon us like freshly scrubbed
doorsteps. It was a most dismal spot, and I was so cold that I was
afraid I would shiver, and Fiske might think I was nervous. So I moved
briskly about among the graves, reading the inscriptions on the
tombstones. Under the circumstances the occupation, to a less healthy
mind, would have been depressing. My adversary, so it seemed to me,