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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"My Lady of the North"

I even smiled to myself
over a jest one of the young officers had made an hour before. Yet with
it all I remained keenly observant, and fully aware of each movement
made by the others on the field. I saw Caton accept the derringer
handed him and test it carefully, the long, slim, blue barrel looking
deadly enough as he held it up between me and the sky. Then Moorehouse
approached Brennan with its fellow in his grasp, and the Lieutenant
crossed over, and stood beside me.
"Here is the gun, Wayne," he said, "and I sincerely hope you have
changed your decision. There is no mercy in Brennan's eyes."
"So I notice," I answered, taking the derringer from him, and examining
it with some curiosity, "but I shall do as I said, nevertheless. It is
not any sentiment of mercy I feel which spares him, but a duty that
appeals to me even more strongly than hate."
"By Heaven, I wish it were otherwise."
I remained silent, for I could not say in my heart that I echoed his
wish, and I cared not to go down in another minute with a lie upon my
lips. The love of Edith Brennan, which I now felt assured was mine, was
sweeter far to me than life.
"Who gives the word?" I questioned.
"I do; are you ready?"
"Perfectly."
I held out my hand, and his fingers closed upon it with warm, friendly
grip. The next moment Brennan and I stood, seemingly alone, facing each
other, as motionless as two statues.


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