Starting and shrinking at this question, Mac Donalbain answered only with a deadly glance.
'They also call them 'children of night,' added Megret in a quiet and seemingly friendly manner. 'The terms are said to apply to those poor people who, at variance with the civil authorities, shelter themselves in rocks and caves, occasionally making excursions into the lowlands, plundering and burning dwellings, driving off cattle, now and then perpetrating a murder, and getting hanged at last.'
'You speak of the robber clans of the highlands,' said Mac Donalbain, struggling to preserve his equanimity.
'C'est cela!' cried Megret, nodding waggishly; 'and I reckon upon your goodness for some details about them. It would be very interesting to me to compare your children of the mist with a somewhat similar class in this country. In Scotland, I am told, even the nobility do not consider it disreputable to march at the head of such expeditions against the flocks and herds of the lowlands. They make no secret of them, and hold the gallows to be as good a bed of honor as the battle field. Every country has its peculiar customs and code of morals. The leaders of our robber bands are far more delicate. They, at least blacken their faces, renouncing the glory due to their heroic deeds, and wash them clean again when they go into honest company.'
With these words Mac Donalbain's face became pale as death. His eyes rolled as if they would start from their sockets, and his teeth audibly chattered. At length he indistinctly stammered, 'I do not, indeed, understand your words; but your envenomed glances are the true interpreters of your meaning. They at least make it clear that you intend to insult me; and more is unnecessary to induce a noble Scot to demand instant satisfaction.'
'It is very flattering to me, noble sir,' answered Megret, 'to receive an invitation to the field of honor from you; but before I can accept it, you must satisfy me that I shall really preserve, and not lose my honor, by going out with you. My comrades in the army are somewhat nice in such matters, and certain occupations render a man forever unworthy a gentleman's sword.'
'Do you refuse to give me satisfaction?' fiercely asked Mac Donalbain, stepping toward Megret, with his hand, apparently grasping a weapon, in his bosom.
Meanwhile Megret had drawn a pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and presented its muzzle to Mac Donalbain. 'One step nearer, a suspicious movement even,' cried he, 'and this bullet pierces your heart. You know the accuracy of my aim.'
Mac Donalbain drew back, fixing his eyes upon his relentless enemy with a wild and vacant stare.
'We will quickly put an end to this unpleasant interview,' continued Megret, with frightful coolness. 'By all this you must perceive that I know you. Long since might I have denounced you to the civil authorities, and I have had more than one personal inducement to do so. Because I became troublesome to you, your myrmidons attempted my murder during the ride to Tornea, and, had it not been for the major's interference, would have succeeded. But magnanimity is the weakness of Frenchmen. You are pardoned, and I merely command you instantly to leave this castle, never to return. If I ever again behold you here, or within a circuit of fifty miles from this, the robber-captain shall be brought to justice and suffer the penalties of the laws.'