His irritated antagonist, however, was not thus to be baulked. He seemed determined to fix a quarrel on Major Gordon, now that the latter had expressed his resolution to visit Kate, if he had not indeed determined on it from the beginning. He, therefore, followed our hero, saying contemptuously—
“Coward!”
Under any other circumstances, that word would have been enough. Observing, however, after going a few paces, that Aylesford still followed him, he sternly said.
“Enough of this, sir. You must see that I won’t quarrel with you. Permit me, therefore, to take my way, and you take yours.” And, as he spoke, he checked his horse again.
But the rage of Aylesford had now become ungovernable. Nothing, indeed, maddens a temper such as his so much as cool conduct like that of Major Gordon. Taking his sword by the hilt, he suddenly raised it, and striking our hero across the face, before the latter could parry the blow, said, with an oath,
“Take that, sir. It’s the first time that I ever saw even a rebel officer disgrace his cloth by poltroonery.”
Natures that are slow to anger, or that give way to it only after strenuous attempts at self-control, are always the most terrible in their wrath. The countenance of Major Gordon grew livid as he reeled from this insulting blow. It was a considerable interval before he spoke, for at first the words choked in his throat; and afterwards he could not trust himself to speak, lest he should, in the first moments of passion, utter something unworthy of himself.
“Dismount,” he said silently, in a low, concentrated voice. “Your blood be on your own head.”
Aylesford, with a mocking laugh, leaped from the saddle, threw his bridle over a convenient bough, and stepped into the middle of the smooth, shaded road. Then drawing his sword he stood on guard.
Major Gordon did not keep him waiting. Disposing of his horse in a similar manner, he unsheathed his blade and placed himself in front of his antagonist.