“Are such the men, young Warbeck,” said the two skeletons, “you would gather round ye to slaughter the Death-wing’s band?”
“No, foul fiends,” said Ned, rising and brandishing his sword, “such are not the men; but here are two. I and young Bertram here defy all your power.”
“Foolish boy!” said one, in tones of mock compassion. “I would not harm ye. Yet, when you have arrived at man’s estate, I might meet you on equal terms.”
“Nay, let not that be your vain excuse,” said Ned; “old or young I defy you, and in token of my eternal hatred take that,” said he, at the same moment throwing his glove at the skeleton face.
“Impudent varlet!” was the angry rejoinder. “It seems as if your footsteps were purposely directed across my path. I know, I feel, that eternal, unquenchable hatred exists between us, and yet not now would I cross swords with ye. But think not, bold youth, that I reject your gauge of battle. No, I accept it. Beneath the old oak, on the moor, meet me in an hour.”
“I will; and with greater pleasure than e’er I did aught in all my life.”
“Until the hour, then, adieu! You will, of course, come alone?”
“I will.”
These few angry words were quickly spoken, and before any one could well realize the fact, the two grim skeletons disappeared.
They mounted two horses that stood outside the inn door, and vanished like the wind.