“Die!” he muttered again, half aloud.
“Yes, die!” said young Gamble, with a fiery pride. “Think you I care to live and see Ellen Harmer given to another? Could I, can I live, now that the only charm life had for me is snatched away?”
“I never harmed you,” said Blood, coolly and collectedly.
“’Tis false, villain!” the youth replied. “Have you not had spies around her? have you not dazzled her with your dishonest words and manner? have you not written dozens of letters to her inviting her to run from her father’s home, and become a lady in London? Why not show your face at her father’s house like any honest man? Why traduce me? Am I not as good as you? If you are a man so am I; we are equal; the tinsel and ribbons of your court-cut coat makes you no better gentleman than Andrew Gamble, the farmer’s son. Nay, curl not your lip, but hear me. This meeting: it is our first and last. You see this sword,” said Andrew, passionately; “there is but one between us, we will divide it.”
So saying, he placed the weapon across his knee, and snapped it in twain.
“Choose,” said Andrew, “the hilt or point, whiche’er you will.”
“You are bent upon bloodshed,” said the colonel; “you are rash, wild, and know not what you do; neither do you know me, if you did you would tremble at such an encounter. I am the best swordsman in all England.”
“And I the worst,” said Andrew; “it matters not, come on.”
Colonel Blood took the point half of the broken sword and wrapped his handkerchief round the thick end for a handle.
Andrew had the thick half.