represented Bertha's feelings towards him, saying he should not otherwise have condescended to pursue her as he did; and both are too proud to make up the difference which this language has occasioned. Indeed I am by no means sure that all is yet ended between these hot young men; nor are things likely to be mended by the marquess now doing all in his power to break the match between his sister and his chosen college friend. In short, my whole domestic prospect is overcast, and I wish to heaven you had not left us, for much I want you."

Such was the important letter which Granville placed in my hands, by way, as he called it, of restoring Bertha to my esteem. Heaven knows how

little that was needed.

But the details it contained besides were by no means indifferent, or of an ordinary complexion. My first source of anxiety was as to the causes of this conduct in Bertha. She had now, a second time within a few months, refused offers, high as was her own lot, equal to it in every respect; in the last, as to worldly advantages, even its superior. What could have induced such indifference, persevered in with such firmness, though left free by her father, and against all the wishes of her brother, in a girl of her age, who in general looks to settlement in marriage as the great and sole object of life? Was she cold? severe in temper? unsociable? selfish? insensible? Ah no! the reverse of all these. What was it then? For the life of me I could not find out.

In regard to the other parties, I was still less easy.

The hints thrown out that all was not ended between two such fiery spirits, hot with youth, "jealous and quick in quarrel," with each a sense of injury, and, what is worse, of affront, occasioned much alarm to the good-natured Granville, and, I will own, some to me.

What I had known of Foljambe gave me no confidence in his discretion, his coolness, or his placability, particularly if his pride was wounded. If so, the very rank and consideration of the marquess would go to swell all his feelings, so as to make them ungovernable.

On the other hand, what I had heard of the overbearing haughtiness of the marquess himself, excited as it might be, if only by mortified vanity, to say nothing of love, gave one no prospect of that mutual forbearance which, in the outset, by sparing many a quarrel, has saved many a life.

Granville was anxiously struck with fears for the event, and talked of returning instantly to the Park, according to the wish expressed by his relative; an intention in which he was by no means discouraged by me. In fact, he set off, with a promise to let me know the termination of the affair, fortunate or unfortunate.

My own anxiety in the interval may be imagined, and Fothergill, from whom I could conceal nothing, was almost as anxious as myself.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE MARQUESS AND FOLJAMBE, FROM FRIENDS, BECOME IRRECONCILABLE ENEMIES, AND ENGAGE IN A DEADLY QUARREL.

High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire.

SHAKSPEARE.-Richard II.

It was four days after Granville's departure before I heard from him, and when I heard, it was to make me far more unhappy. The exasperated friends, changed into determined enemies, had met, and the consequences were disastrous to them both. Lord Albany was as furious with his sister for refusing to break with Hastings, as Hastings was with his, for refusing to accept Lord Albany. This, and the affront put upon the family by the language of the marquess, that he would not have condescended to pursue Bertha had he not been encouraged, inflamed irritation to its height.

To do Foljambe justice, he endeavoured first to obtain some satisfactory explanation of the phrase,— which was proudly refused; and a hint was then dropt of the necessary consequence, which was only prevented, Foljambe said, by the circumstance that

the marquess was still the guest of Mr. Hastings. Albany instantly ordered his carriage, and whispered Foljambe, that he would wait for him at York, where the impediment he had hinted might at once be removed.

It may be supposed that Foljambe soon followed, but first placed Granville in a most distressing situation, by opening the affair to him, and insisting, that as a relation as well as a friend, it concerned himself in vindicating the honour of the family, he should accompany him as his second.

Granville at first refused, and was for communicating the matter to his father; but upon second thought, feeling convinced that the meeting could not be prevented, and hoping he might be able to mitigate the extremities of passion by good offices, he resolved to comply, and proceeded with Foljambe to York. There they found the marquess, who had already provided himself with a friend, in an old acquaintance, Colonel Sackville, whom he met in the subscriptionroom, and who could not refuse a man of his quality, soliciting his support in an affair of honour.

Granville did all he could with this gentleman to influence him to persuade Lord Albany to do common justice to the affronted party; and, to do justice to Colonel Sackville, he did not scruple to tell Lord Albany he thought him in the wrong. But, that misguided person said it was too late; and all that was left for the seconds was to see fair play. This was the more necessary, from the exasperation of the parties, which was little short of madness. They

went out immediately, and the usual distance being settled, the principals (fatally for themselves, both admirable shots) fired at the same moment, and both fell.

The subsequent consternation may be supposed. So violent had been the haste of these once loving friends to destroy one another, that no surgeon had been provided, and had not the valets of each been in attendance, there might have been difficulty in removing them when fallen; but through these servants carriages were quickly procured. The seconds, unmindful of their own safety, had remained to give all the assistance they could till more aid arrived, and at length these ungovernable young men were conveyed to the same hotel, and put to bed, insensible, half-dead from loss of blood, and barely still alive.

Two surgeons were immediately in attendance, whose first care was to restore animation, which was with difficulty effected. The wounds were then probed, and both pronounced most dangerous, if not hopeless. The marquess's ball was indeed extracted from the breast, where it had entered, but that of Foljambe baffled all their attempts. When Granville wrote, the marquess's wound was pronounced not altogether without hope, but Foljambe's desperate: both seconds had, therefore, left the city, together with the two servants. Mr. Hastings had come to York, to attend his son, and Bertha, deluged in grief, had been left at the Park, the child of woe, reproaching herself as the murderess of her brother. Good God! "what a piece of work is man!" left in peace,