CHAPTER XII
THE DUEL
It was a time of stress and even of temptation for Sir Terence.
Honour and pride demanded that he should keep the appointment made
with Samoval; common sense urged him at all costs to avoid it. His
frame of mind, you see, was not at all enviable. At moments he
would consider his position as adjutant-general, the enactment
against duelling, the irregularity of the meeting arranged, and,
consequently, the danger in which he stood on every score; at others
he could think of nothing but the unpardonable affront that had been
offered him and the venomously insulting manner in which it had been
offered, and his rage welled up to blot out every consideration
other than that of punishing Samoval.
For two days and a night he was a sort of shuttlecock tossed between
these alternating moods, and he was still the same when he paced the
quadrangle with bowed head and hands clasped behind him awaiting
Samoval at a few minutes before twelve of the following night. The
windows that looked down from the four sides of that enclosed garden
were all in darkness. The members of the household had withdrawn
over an hour ago and were asleep by now. The official quarters were
closed.
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