morning the combatants met at the appointed place. Doctor Hertz was in attendance, and as the two young men stripped and stood grasping the hilts of their swords, he eyed them critically.

Landauer he passed over with a glance, his neat, lithe figure was quite familiar to him, he knew his powers to a fraction, and was perfectly aware that he would give a good account of himself.

With George Helmar it was different. He had never seen him before—it was his first appearance in the duelling world. The doctor's critical glance quickly turned into one of admiration. The tall, loose figure, though perhaps not beautiful in an artistic sense, pleased him greatly. Helmar's back and chest were ribbed with beautifully developed muscles, while his long, sinewy arms hung loosely at his sides, their very pose indicating to his practised eye their perfect suppleness.

The old doctor liked what he saw in the new candidate, and a grim smile played over his face as the word of command was given.

The spot was a solitary one. The common that had been selected was well away from the University, and admirably adapted to an encounter such as this. The trees in the background sheltered the combatants from observation in one direction, but for the rest the common lay open and uninviting, and the chill morning air blowing across it made the onlookers think longingly of their beds.

Notwithstanding this, every eye was riveted on the duellists. No thought of the fact that probably one of the men would be carried lifeless from the spot detracted from their interest in the encounter. They loved a fight, it was their nature; and, rain or snow, wind or hail, they would watch it to the bitter end.

At first the two young men fought cautiously, their heavy sabres flashing and glinting in the morning light as they thrust and parried with lightning rapidity. Later on Landauer seemed inclined to attack, and his blows on Helmar's weapon rang out in quick succession. Acting purely on the defensive, the latter parried the onslaught with an ease that puzzled and angered his opponent, until incautiously he fell into the trap by redoubling his attack. Helmar had reckoned on this. He hoped soon to tire the bully out, and a faint smile passed over his face, as with a head parry he stayed a terrific blow from his fiery antagonist.

Whether it was the smile, or a sense of caution previously unheeded, is doubtful; but Landauer evidently saw his mistake and endeavoured to remedy it by defensive tactics. It was too late. He had already begun to tire, while Helmar was still fresh. Seeing his opportunity, the latter pressed his advantage with the utmost cleverness. Without giving his opponent time to recover, he came at him with a rapidity that fairly astonished everybody, never wasting any power on a stroke which he knew would be parried. Sparks flew from their swords, as with the agility of a swordsman only in the highest stage of training he fought, bearing his opponent back with his lightning thrusts.

It was a fine sight. The whole thing seemed little more than play to him, while his antagonist was already breathing hard and showing signs of fatigue.

In the third round Helmar received a slight wound in the face, and the sight of the blood made the onlookers think that he was tiring too. But they didn't know their man. He had a big reserve of power which, as yet, he had not exerted; but he knew the game was in his own hands, and was prolonging the bully's punishment.

Suddenly Landauer made a ferocious attack, and in doing so for a moment drove the other back. His advantage was but momentary, for in an unguarded moment he had left himself badly open. With no real intention of doing him very serious harm, Helmar lunged out, and his sabre passed down Landauer's right cheek to his left shoulder, and he fell back on the grass with a terribly ugly wound.

The duel was over, and the bully punished. The spectators rushed to express their admiration to the victor and congratulate him on his success, but he would have none of it, and hurriedly went to the assistance of his late foe.

The doctor examined the wound and looked very grave. In response to his inquiries, he told Helmar that he could not yet express an opinion, but the case was serious, and the wounded man must be at once taken to the hospital.

Helmar turned to his friend Osterberg.

"Come," said he, "this place is hateful to me. If I have killed him I shall never forgive myself." He put on his coat and went back to his house.

CHAPTER II

DOWN THE DANUBE

After the duel Helmar endeavoured to return to his studies as before, but it was with a sore heart and a disturbed mind that he applied himself to his "Materia Medica." Each day he anxiously inquired after the wounded man, each night in the quiet of his room he prayed earnestly that Landauer's life might be spared.

Charlie Osterberg was now his constant companion, and tried by every means in his power, but without avail, to cheer his friend and distract his mind from the gloom and despondency that had taken hold of him.

It was on the evening of the fourth day since the duel, young Osterberg, after a visit to the wounded man, returned hastily to George's rooms.

Helmar looked up as his friend entered.

"Well, what news? No, never mind, I read it in your face," he said, as he noticed Charlie's pallor and troubled face. "He is dead?"

Osterberg shook his head.

"Not as bad as that, thank God, but I fear he cannot live. Dr. Hertz was there when I arrived, and before I left, he said the patient was rapidly sinking, and that it was only a question of forty-eight hours; but," he added hurriedly, as he noticed the horrified expression of the listener's face, "he also told me to say to you that, should he die, you will in no way be blamed. You cannot be held responsible. Had you not wounded him, he would probably have killed you."

His friend paid no heed to these consoling words, but, resting his face on his hand, gazed out of the window lost in deep thought.

Receiving no reply, Charlie stepped towards him, and, laying his hand gently on his shoulder, said—

"Cheer up, George, this affair is through no fault of yours. If anybody's, the blame is mine. I should have known better than to have noticed his words, but——" And he broke off with a troubled look in his eyes.

"No, no, Charlie, no blame attaches to you or, for that matter, to me. According to the duelling laws of the country we are in the right—it isn't that. You don't understand."

He paused for a moment, then suddenly looked up into the anxious young face at his side.

"Charlie, are you very keen to remain here and continue your work?"

"I ought to," he replied doubtfully. "My parents have been so good to me and are so anxious that I should do well in my examinations. But why?"

"The thing is as plain as daylight," said Helmar, as if arguing with himself. "I cannot ever face my people again. How would it be possible for me to go to them with blood on my hands? No, a thousand times, no! I am a homicide morally, no matter what the law may countenance. It is a barbarous custom, and one in which I can see no right. Oh! why did