“I’ll try, however,” answered Jones, “if you please, and will be so kind to lend me a sword, for I have none here of my own.”

“My sword is heartily at your service, my dear boy,” cries the lieutenant, kissing him: “you are a brave lad, and I love your spirit; but I fear your strength; for such a blow, and so much loss of blood, must have very much weakened you; and though you feel no want of strength in your bed, yet you most probably would after a thrust or two. I can’t consent to your taking him out to-night; but I hope you will be able to come up with us before we get many days’ march advance; and I give you my honour you shall have satisfaction, or the man who hath injured you shan’t stay in our regiment.”

“I wish,” said Jones, “it was possible to decide this matter to-night: now you have mentioned it to me, I shall not be able to rest.”

“Oh, never think of it,” returned the other: “a few days will make no difference. The wounds of honour are not like those in your body: they suffer nothing by the delay of cure. It will be altogether as well for you to receive satisfaction a week hence as now.”

“But suppose,” says Jones, “I should grow worse, and die of the consequences of my present wound?”

“Then your honour,” answered the lieutenant, “will require no reparation at all. I myself will do justice to your character, and testify to the world your intention to have acted properly, if you had recovered.”

“Still,” replied Jones, “I am concerned at the delay. I am almost afraid to mention it to you who are a soldier; but though I have been a very wild young fellow, still in my most serious moments, and at the bottom, I am really a Christian.”

“So am I too, I assure you,” said the officer; “and so zealous a one, that I was pleased with you at dinner for taking up the cause of your religion; and I am a little offended with you now, young gentleman, that you should express a fear of declaring your faith before any one.”

“But how terrible must it be,” cries Jones, “to any one who is really a Christian, to cherish malice in his breast, in opposition to the command of Him who hath expressly forbid it? How can I bear to do this on a sick-bed? Or how shall I make up my account, with such an article as this in my bosom against me?”

“Why, I believe there is such a command,” cries the lieutenant; “but a man of honour can’t keep it. And you must be a man of honour, if you will be in the army. I remember I once put the case to our chaplain over a bowl of punch, and he confessed there was much difficulty in it; but he said, he hoped there might be a latitude granted to soldiers in this one instance; and to be sure it is our duty to hope so; for who would bear to live without his honour? No, no, my dear boy, be a good Christian as long as you live; but be a man of honour too, and never put up an affront; not all the books, nor all the parsons in the world, shall ever persuade me to that. I love my religion very well, but I love my honour more. There must be some mistake in the wording the text, or in the translation, or in the understanding it, or somewhere or other. But however that be, a man must run the risque, for he must preserve his honour. So compose yourself to-night, and I promise you you shall have an opportunity of doing yourself justice.” Here he gave Jones a hearty buss, shook him by the hand, and took his leave.

But though the lieutenant’s reasoning was very satisfactory to himself, it was not entirely so to his friend. Jones therefore, having revolved this matter much in his thoughts, at last came to a resolution, which the reader will find in the next chapter.