CHAPTER XXV. THE CHALLENGE. "Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting, I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall." "More matter for a May morning." 'Here's the challenge, read it." "If this letter move him not, his legs cannot." "O ominous! he comes to kill my heart." Shakspeare. OLD MAURICE, the pastry-cook, had welcomed his daughter gladly, as one returned from the grave, and had learned from her own lips, with mingled tears of joy and gratitude, how, thanks to noble Harry Oaklands, she had escaped unscathed from the perils and temptations to which she had been exposed; many days had elapsed, the Long Vacation had commenced, and the ancient town of Cambridge, no longer animated by the countless throngs of gownsmen, frowned in its unaccustomed solitude, like some City of the Dead, and still no hostile message came from Wilford. Various reports were circulated concerning the reappearance of Lizzie Maurice; but none of them bore the faintest resemblance to the truth, and to no one had the possibility of Oaklands' interference in the matter occurred, save, as it afterwards appeared, to Charles Archer. For above a week Wilford was confined to his room, seeing only Wentworth; and it was given out that he had met with a severe fall from his horse, and was ordered to keep perfectly quiet. At the expiration of that period he quitted Cambridge suddenly, leaving no clue to his whereabouts. This strange conduct scarcely excited any surprise amongst the set he moved in, as it was usually his habit to shroud all his proceedings under a veil of secrecy, assumed, as some imagined, for the purpose of enhancing the mysterious and unaccountable influence he delighted to exercise over the minds of men. Oaklands remained a few days at Cambridge after Wilford's departure, as he said, to pack up, but, as I felt certain, to prevent the possibility of Wilford's imagining that he was anxious in any way to avoid him. Finding at length that his rooms were dismantled, and that he would not, in all probability, return till the end of the Long Vacation, Harry ceased to trouble his head any further about the matter, and we set off for Heathfield, accompanied by Archer, whom Harry had invited to pay him a visit. We found all well at our respective homes; my mother appeared much stronger, and was actually growing quite stout, for her; and Fanny looked so pretty, that I was not surprised at the very particular attentions paid her from the first moment of his introduction by the volatile Archer, (who, by the way, was a regular male flirt,) attentions which I was pleased to perceive she appreciated exactly at their proper value. We soon fell into our old habits again, Oaklands and Archer setting out after breakfast for a stroll, or on a fishing expedition, which usually ended in Harry's coming to an anchor under some spreading oak or beech, where he remained "doing a bit of the dolce," as Archer called it, till luncheon time; whilst I, who could not afford to be idle, read hard till about three o'clock, and then joined in whatever amusement was the order of the day. "Frank, may I come in?" exclaimed Fanny's silvery voice outside my study door, one morning during my working hours, when I had been at home about a fortnight. "To be sure you may, you little torment,” replied I; are you coming to learn mathematics, or to teach me crochet? for I see you are armed with that vicious little hook with which you delight to torture the wool of innocent lambs into strange shapes, for the purpose of providing your friends with innumerable small anomalous absurdities, which they had much rather be without.” "No such thing, Mr. Impudence, I never make any article which is not particularly useful as well as ornamental. But Frank, dear," she continued, "I should not have interrupted you, only I wanted to tell you something-it may be nothing to signify, and yet I cannot help feeling alarmed about it." "What is it, darling?" said I, putting my arm round her taper little waist, and drawing her towards me. "Why, Mr. Oaklands has been here this morning; he came to bring mamma a message from Sir John, inviting us all to dine with him to-morrow." "Nothing very alarming so far," observed I; "go on." "Mamma said we should be extremely happy to do so, and quitted the room to find a recipe she had promised to the housekeeper at the Hall." " And you were left alone with Harry,-that was alarming certainly," said I. "Nonsense," returned Fanny, while a very becoming blush glowed on her cheek; "how you do interrupt me! Mr. Oaklands had kindly offered to explain a difficult passage in Dante for me, and I was standing on a chair to get down the book,” "Which he could have reached by merely stretching out his arm, I dare say, only he was too idle," interposed I. "Indeed he could not," replied Fanny quickly, "for he was sitting in the low easy chair, and trying to fasten mamma's spectacles on Donald's nose." (Donald being a favourite Scotch terrier belonging to Harry, and a great character in his way.) "Well, I had just found the book," she continued, "and we were going to begin, when a note was given to Mr. Oaklands, which had been brought by a groom from the Hall, with a message that the gentleman who had left it, was waiting at the inn in the village for an answer. Mr. Oaklands began to read it in his usual quiet way, but no sooner had he thrown his eye over the first few lines, than his cheeks flushed, his brow grew dark, and his face assumed that fearfully stern expression which I have heard you describe, but had never before seen myself. As soon as he had finished reading it, he crushed the paper in his hand, and sprung up, saying hurriedly, 'Is Frank ?' He then took two or three steps towards the door, and I thought he was coming to consult you. Suddenly, however, some new idea seemed to cross his mind, and, stopping abruptly, he strode towards the window, where he remained for a few moments, apparently buried in thought. At length he muttered, 'Yes, that will be better, better in all respects;' and turning on his heel, he was about to quit the room, leaving his hat on the table, when I ventured to hand it to him, saying, 'You are going without your hat, Mr. Oaklands.' He started at the sound of my voice, and seeming for the first time to recollect that I was in the room, he took the hat from me, begging pardon for his inattention, and adding, 'You must allow me to postpone our Italian lesson till. ! till to-morrow, shall we say? I find there is a gentleman waiting to see me.' He paused as if he wished to say more, but scarcely knew how to express himself. 'You saw,' he continued, that is—you may have observed that—that in fact there P was something in that note which annoyed me—you need not say anything about it to Mrs. Fairlegh; she is rather given to alarming herself unnecessarily, I fancy,' he added with a faint smile; tell Frank I shall not be at home till dinner-time, but that I shall see him in the evening.' He then shook my hand warmly, and holding it for a moment in his own, fixed his eyes on my face with a strange half-melancholy expression that frightened me, and once saying good-bye,' he pressed his hat over his brows, and bounding across the lawn, was out of sight in an instant. His manner was so very odd, so unlike what it generally is. Dear Frank, what is the meaning of all this? I am sure there is something going to happen, something”— "You silly child," replied I, affecting a careless composure I was far from feeling, "how you frighten yourself about nothing. Harry has probably received a threatening letter from a Cambridge dun, and your lively imagination magnifies it into a-(challenge, I was going to add, but I substituted)-into something dreadful." "Is that what you really think?" questioned Fanny, fixing her large blue eyes upon my face inquiringly. I am the worst hand in the world at playing the hypocrite, and with ready tact she perceived at once that I was attempting to deceive her. "Frank," she resumed, “you have seen but little of me since we were children together, and deem, possibly, that I am a weak, silly girl, unfit to be trusted with evil tidings; but indeed, dear brother, you do me injustice; the sorrows we have gone through,” (and her eyes filled with tears as she spoke,) "the necessity for exertion in order to save mamma as much as possible, have given me more strength of character, and firmness of purpose, than girls of my age in general possess; tell me the truth, and fear not but that power will be given me to bear it, be it what it may; but, if I think you are trying to hide it from me, (and do not hope to deceive me,— your face proves that you are as much alarmed at what you have heard as I am myself, and probably with far better reason,) I shall be unable to forget it, and it will make me miserable.” "Well then,” replied I, "thus far I will trust you. I do fear, from what you have told me, that Oaklands has received some evil tidings relative to a disagreeable affair in which he was engaged at Cambridge, the results of which are not fully known at present, and which, I am afraid, may yet occasion him much care and anxiety." "And I had fancied him so light-hearted and happy," said Fanny, thoughtfully; "and is this all I am to know about it then?" "All that I feel myself at liberty to tell at present," replied I; "recollect, darling, it is my friend's secret, not my own, or you should hear everything." "Then you will tell me all your secrets, if I ask you?" inquired Fanny, archly. "Whom should I trust or confide in, if not my own dear little sister?" said I, stroking her golden locks caressingly. "And now," continued I, rising, "I will go and see whether I can do any good in this affair; but when Master Harry is in one of his impetuous moods, he gets quite beyond my management." "Oh! but you can influence him," exclaimed Fanny, her bright eyes sparkling with animation; "you can calm his impetuosity with your own quiet good sense and clear judgment,—you can appeal to his high and generous nature,—you can tell him how dear he is to you, how you love him with more than a brother's love: you can and will do all this,—will you not, dear Frank ?" "Of course I shall do everything that I am able, my dear child," replied I, somewhat astonished at this sudden outburst; "and now go, and be quiet, this business seems rather to have excited you. If my mother asks for me, tell her I am gone up to the Hall." "What warm-hearted creatures women are!" thought I, as I ran, rather than walked, through the park; "that little sister of mine, now-no sooner does she hear that my friend has got into a scrape, of the very nature of which she is ignorant, (a pretty fuss she would be in if she were aware that it was a duel, of which I am afraid,) than she becomes quite excited, and implores me, as if she were pleading for her life, to use my influence with Harry to prevent his doing something, she has not the most remote notion what. I wish she did not act quite so much from impulse. It's lucky she has got a brother to take care of her; though it does not become me to find fault with her, for it all proceeds from her affection for me; she knows how wretched I should be if anything were to go wrong with Harry," and then I fell into a train of thought as to what it could be which had so suddenly excited him: something connected with Wilford, no doubt; but what?-my fears pointed to a challenge, and my blood ran cold at the thought. He must accept it; neither my influence, were it increased a hundredfold, nor that of any one else, could make him apologize; besides, it is not very easy to imagine a satisfactory apology for horse-whipping a |